


Stars

by LilyIsAwesomerThanYou



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Depression, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Guardian Severus Snape, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentor Severus Snape, No Slash, Occlumency, Past Abuse, Severitus, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-06 00:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12200592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyIsAwesomerThanYou/pseuds/LilyIsAwesomerThanYou
Summary: When Snape discovers Harry's abusive past during an Occlumency lesson, Harry panics. Snape is forced to take care of him in the aftermath. Mentor/guardian fic. As always, no slash.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FF.net  
> I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 1

The slow creep of London traffic set Harry's nerves on edge. With a headache brewing from the cacophony of dozens of horns and a churning stomach from the lurching driving of his uncle, Harry looked out the window at the grimy black slush on the streets – the result of another winter in the city. He missed the brilliant white landscapes of Hogwarts already.

He had discovered that the school was being shut down for winter holidays several weeks before the end of term when he had overheard a fierce argument between Professor McGonagall and Umbridge while on his way to the Transfiguration classroom to retrieve his forgotten book. Although pressed up against the wall around the corner to keep from being caught and facing the possibility of another detention with Umbridge, he had overheard McGonagall's concern for students with nowhere to go. Umbridge had replied in her typical nasty fashion and sure enough, two days later there was an announcement that the school would be closed over the holidays.

Harry had silently hoped that he would be able to simply avoid the Dursleys for the duration of his stay at his relatives' house, but from Uncle Vernon's yells and the quivering of the mustache on his purple, blotchy face, Harry figured it was a lost cause. He leaned his head against the window with a sigh.

"We graciously put up with your miserable presence during the summers without complaint, and what do we get? Stuck with you during the holidays as well! What's next? Easter holidays? Maybe all of fall – _bloody hell!_ " Uncle Vernon punched the brakes particularly aggressively as a taxi swerved in front of the car. Harry flew forward and almost hit the passenger seat where his aunt was sitting silently, irritation pinching her face unflatteringly.

"See, boy? This is all your fault! If you hadn't had to come back and ruin our perfectly peaceful Christmas, we wouldn't be in this mess!" He growled and muttered under his breath as he jerked the wheel to avoid a bus, the tires squealing in an attempt to maintain traction on the icy road. Vernon glanced back at Harry in irritation. "Don't lean or even _breathe_ on that window, boy! If I see so much as a smudge, you'll be cleaning the car all night in the cold."

Harry let out an infinitesimal sigh and removed his head from the window, where his breath had been fogging up the glass. He moved to the center seat.

"Not the middle! I can't see over your head. Do you want to get us all killed?" Vernon snapped again.

Harry sighed louder and moved back to his original spot behind his aunt's seat, careful not to rest his head on the window. He tuned out his uncle's griping and watched the heavy jacket-clad people on the sidewalks hurrying down the street, wondering where they were going and figuring wherever it was, it had to be better than Privet Drive.

oOoOo

Harry awoke on Christmas morning to the usual small pile of gifts at the foot of his bed. Grinning widely as he opened the gifts, he managed to forget entirely that he was at his relatives' until his aunt's shrieking voice pierced through his bedroom door and demanded that he start the Christmas turkey. Groaning, Harry threw on his new burgundy knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and trudged downstairs, his Christmas spirit significantly dampened.

From the kitchen, it was painfully hard to ignore Dudley's reactions to his Christmas gifts. Harry wasn't sure which sound annoyed him most: his cousin's excited yell when he received something that he had wanted for ages or the spoiled boy's loud complaint when the gift wasn't satisfactory enough. The young wizard wiped off his hands and leaned back against the counter, silently watching the exchange in the living room with barely concealed disgust.

He hated being home for the holidays.

The sound of heels clicking on the hardwood alerted Harry to his aunt's approach and he quickly picked up the knife and continued chopping up the celery for the stuffing. The footsteps stopped behind him and he kept his head down and focused on the celery.

She cleared her throat loudly. "Potter."

Harry set down the knife and turned around, fully aware that both his uncle and his cousin had paused their gift opening and had focused their attention on the kitchen. His aunt held out a poorly wrapped brown package to him.

He took the package and fought to keep the glare off his face, confused as to why the Dursleys had even given him a gift and knowing full well that it would most likely be more horrid than ever considering their anger about him staying with them over the holidays. He tore open the package and nearly dropped the rag and bottle of cleaner inside.

Aunt Petunia scoffed. "You'll clean the windows and the floor after you finish making dinner. We'll have company tonight and if you're going to be here you might as well make yourself useful. Happy Christmas, Potter."

Harry slammed the two items on the counter next to the cutting board and continued making dinner, pretending not to hear the loud guffaws coming from the living room. He could feel his aunt's gaze burning into the back of his neck, so he kept his hands busy and imagined that he was at Hogwarts or the Burrow, enjoying Christmas with his friends. He _should_ have been, too, if it wasn't for Dumbledore. Dumbledore hadn't even looked at Harry since the beginning of the summer when he had battled the dementors in Little Whinging, and Harry couldn't bring himself to even try to ask the man to let him stay with the Weasleys rather than with his relatives.

And now he was stuck in Number 4 Privet Drive with his awful relatives making a Christmas dinner that he wouldn't even be able to eat and listening to them all laugh at his misery.

What a delightful Christmas holiday.

oOoOo

With dinner ready and the house spotless, Harry was dismissed from his relatives' presence. He slipped out the front door, careful not to pass the guests that were currently laughing with his aunt and uncle. Dudley was probably out doing Merlin-knows-what with his gang of friends.

Harry made his way to the little playground down at the end of the street. It used to be well cared for – perhaps when there were more children in the neighborhood – but now the weeds were overgrown and the equipment was rusting. Harry sat in his usual spot on one of the swings and wrapped his arms around himself. He was wearing three of Dudley's thin sweatshirts but they still didn't keep out the chill.

He could feel his wand poking into his side from its awkward position in his waistband, and he couldn't help but think back to the previous summer with the dementors and his near-expulsion from Hogwarts. Dumbledore had come to his aid, but the man wouldn't even spare him a glance throughout the entire trial.

Harry sighed and stood up, considering going into town to hopefully find a warmer place to sit. His mind was quickly changed by the sound of heavy, lumbering footsteps approaching the park. He could hear Dudley's grumbling voice and the sniggering of his stupid friends, and Harry shrunk back down onto the swing in the vain hope that they wouldn't catch sight of him.

"Potter!" came Dudley's loud crow, followed by, " _There_ you are! We've been looking all over the neighborhood for you."

Harry gave him a sideways glance. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing. I just haven't given you my Christmas gift yet."

"Yeah, whatever. I don't want it," Harry called back flippantly.

"That's not an option, Potter," Dudley growled, and he began to advance across the playground with his gang of bullies. "See, my mum and dad got to give you their gift, and now it's my turn to give you mine. I never got you back for this summer – what you did to me."

"I _saved_ you, Dudley," Harry sighed, standing up to leave. He figured sitting in his room alone would be a whole lot better than facing his cousin's gang alone in the park.

"Where do you think you're going?" his cousin snapped, and immediately his friends piped in.

"Yeah, where do you think you're going? Are you scared?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not scared, just tired of dealing with idiots."

The first punch sent Harry falling back into the swing he had been sitting on. He grasped onto the chains for support and stood back up, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

"You got your punch. Let me go." His cheek was already swelling slightly.

"I don't think so," he growled, and another punch hit Harry in the ribs. Harry doubled over briefly, but stood up again, glaring at his cousin.

"You punch like your mum," Harry sneered, still holding his side. Something akin to fire burned in his cousin's eyes.

A right hook sent Harry sprawling, and then they were all on him. Punching, kicking, scratching. Out for blood like wild animals. Dudley had retired after a few good kicks and now stood laughing as his goons continued beating on the wizard for all they were worth.

Harry's nose snapped and blood gushed down over his lips and down his chin, making him gag. He reached for his face, but a heavy foot crashed down onto his wrist forcefully, making him cry out.

As blackness played at the edges of his vision, he heard Dudley's gang wander off into the night, their laughs twice as loud and boisterous as before.

"That's what you get, Potter," Dudley whispered in his ear, a sick smirk plastered on his face and a cold pleasure in his beady little eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The patter of rain against the window of the Hogwarts Express caused Harry to open his eyes. Hermione was sitting across from him, leaning against the window much in the way that he had, but her eyes were open. Her face was pale and weary, and Harry wanted to reach out and grab her hand to reassure her. Her amber eyes turned to look at him, and she gave him half a smile.

Harry returned the vague smile. The leather seats of the train compartment were soft and comfortable, a stark contrast to the prickling and crawling of his skin. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened over break, and nausea reared its ugly head and threatened to make his miniscule breakfast of bacon and dry toast known to all.

Ron had sent him a letter a few days into break, his handwriting shaky as he informed him that his father had been attacked by a large snake at the Ministry and was in critical condition. Luckily, he had been found shortly, but the damage that had been done was still extensive, and Mr. Weasley had been in St. Mungo's for weeks now.

Hermione had received the same letter, and Harry knew that that was the reason that she looked so pale and distressed, her normally incessantly moving mouth closed for once. For Ron was not on the train for the first time, and it was a constant reminder to the both of them of the events that had transpired over break.

Harry tried not to think of the dream, but it forced itself into his mind anyway and he nearly vomited in the compartment again, his stomach convulsing slightly in both nausea and pain at the bruises that covered Harry's stomach. He would rather dwell on the beatings than the horrible dream, but unfortunately he was not quite so lucky.

He had been the snake. He had felt himself slither through the halls of the Ministry in pursuit of the Weasley patriarch. He had attacked Mr. Weasley and felt the warm rush of blood as it poured from the cut, felt the satisfaction at a job well done as he slithered away.

The satisfaction – the indifference – is what repulsed him, more so even than what he had seen and what he had done. He had nearly killed Arthur Weasley, and he had even liked it. The matter had weighed so heavily on him that he had nearly written a letter to Dumbledore. Nearly a hundred pieces of crumpled parchment lie in the waste bin by his rickety desk at the Dursleys'.

_Professor Dumbledore, I'm so sorry to bother you but –_

_Professor Dumbledore, I know we haven't spoken but –_

_Professor Dumbledore, I need to tell you –_

Frustration had caused Harry to finally settle on a letter to Sirius, pouring out his worries and concerns about the horrid dream. Sirius had responded immediately and had apparently informed the Headmaster himself, although Harry had yet to hear from the man.

He felt an unnatural surge of anger rise up in him at the thought of the Headmaster, a slight prickling in his scar making itself known, and he clenched his eyes shut.

"Harry?" Hermione was giving him a strange look, curiosity and concern warring in her amber eyes. "Are you okay?" Her voice was hesitant.

"Yeah, I'm alright, 'Mione. My scar is just hurting a bit." He flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Her eyes flickered to the scribble of scar tissue before returning his gaze. "If you're sure. How were your holidays? Were your relatives alright to you?"

"Oh, yeah, they kind of ignored me, really. I didn't have much to do there." His tender wrist was throbbing, its steady pain beating a tattoo into his brain, reminding him viciously of his lie. His eyes burned with something like shame at the thought of his relatives. He was a worthless wizard. How was he supposed to defeat Voldemort when he couldn't even defend himself from a trio of fat, stupid Muggles? "What did you do over your holidays?"

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad to hear that! My parents and I went to visit France. It was brilliant! The architecture and the history are so fascinating! Did you know that the Arc de Triomphe – ?"

Harry cut her off with a laugh. "I'm sure that I don't."

When the train arrived in Hogsmeade Station and he made his way toward the carriages with Hermione by his side, he just looked at the thestrals with resignation. Surprisingly, the nightmares of Cedric's death and Voldemort's return in the graveyard that had plagued him over the summer had become far less frequent since the beginning of his fifth year. They had been replaced by a recurrent dream of a dark corridor with a locked door at the end, which he figured was frustrating but eternally better than nightmares.

Ron met them in the Great Hall for the Welcome Feast, and Harry noticed Ron's red eyes and pale face, his freckles standing out brightly against his skin.

"How–?" Hermione had barely gotten a word out before Ron cut her off abruptly.

"Fine. Still unconscious." His voice was dead.

Hermione flushed at the interruption but nodded in sympathy, reaching out a hand to touch Ron's. His fingers twisted around hers as he grasped her hand tightly, although his face didn't lose the pale, hopeless expression that seemed to be permanently there.

As Harry began piling turkey onto his gilded plate, he was interrupted by a beautiful tawny owl swooping through the window and onto the table before him. Harry took the letter that was being offered him and offered the owl a bit of stuffing in return, stroking its feathers and wondering whose it was. It certainly wasn't a school owl, for although the owls of Hogwarts were well cared for, their feathers often lacked the radiant luster of personal owls. Perhaps Dumbledore? A quick glance at the silver-haired old man revealed that clearly nothing had changed between them, as the man was pointedly looking at a particularly bright candle floating above the Ravenclaw table.

Harry wanted to laugh despite his frustration with the man, but he felt an unprecedented fury explode within his chest at the sight. He shook his head frantically to be rid of the unnatural feeling twisting in his gut, calming slightly as Hermione grasped his shoulder lightly in concern.

This time refusing to look at the Headmaster as well, he tore open the letter that was now clenched in his left hand. The owl flew away as Harry's stomach flipped as he read the contents of the letter.

_Mr. Potter,_

_I require your presence in my office after the feast. Do not be late._

_Professor Snape_

Ron showed a surprising amount of interest in the letter, inquiring about the contents and eventually reaching a shaky hand across his untouched plate to grab ahold of the letter and read it for himself. As Ron read the letter, Harry's eyes sought out Ginny a small distance down the table. She met his glance quickly, her red-rimmed eyes betraying the sad smile that appeared on her face immediately.

He grinned back at her as Ron announced his obvious outrage across the table. Harry reluctantly looked away from Ginny as Hermione snatched the letter from Ron's hand and scanned it herself.

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing, Harry. Probably just Order stuff," she reassured him, and Harry desperately hoped that she was right. But they had just come back from the holiday – surely someone from the Order could have contacted him then if they really needed to speak to him, right? He couldn't help the nervousness and dread in his stomach at the prospect of his meeting with Snape.

oOoOo

"It must be delightful to think yourself important enough to waste the precious time of others." Snape's voice was cold when Harry entered the man's office.

"The feast only just ended," Harry protested hotly, his hand gripping his bag tighter in irritation. Snape's eyes flashed dangerously from where he was sitting behind his desk.

"Don't talk back to me," Snape snapped angrily, his face settling in a deep scowl.

Harry collapsed into one of the man's uncomfortable straight-backed chairs with a glare.

Snape cut straight to the point. "I have been made aware of the events that occurred over your holiday," he bit out, and the blood froze in Harry's veins. Had someone found out about the Dursleys? He wanted to vomit at the thought, but forced himself to meet Snape's black gaze unflinchingly. "The Headmaster informed me that you saw the attack on Arthur Weasley?"

Harry nodded quickly, still feeling slightly sick. "I – "

"Don't interrupt me. As I understand it, you saw this event occur in a dream?" Harry nodded again, and Snape continued, "I see. Do you often have dreams like this, Potter?"

"Dreams where I watch my best friend's dad get attacked by a bloody snake?" Harry felt his face flush angrily.

" _Language, Potter._ Now the Headmaster is under the impression that the curse that rebounded years ago has caused a mental link with the Dark Lord. Quite unfortunately for the both of us, he has asked me to train you to close your mind."

Confusion knotted Harry's stomach. "So the dreams about Mr. Weasley and the old man from last year were – "

"Bleeding through from the Dark Lord's mind." Harry twisted the strap on his bag in irritation as the man interrupted him, but held his tongue.

"And so I'm supposed to learn to – what – close my mind?"

"I will be teaching you Occlumency, a very complex and difficult mind magic. Only the most disciplined of wizards can learn it properly, so I do not expect much from you, Potter. But at the Headmaster's request, I will nevertheless put my effort into a hopeless cause." Snape looked briefly frustrated.

Harry flushed angrily. "Why couldn't Dumbledore teach me himself?" He didn't want to spend extra time with Snape. What had he done to deserve this?

" _Professor_ Dumbledore is a busy man, Potter. As such, he cannot spend his time babysitting young arrogant wizards, and the job fell to me."

"So these lessons – "

"Are secret," Snape interrupted smoothly once again. "No one can know of them, especially not Dolores Umbridge. If anyone asks, you will tell them that I am offering you Remedial Potions. I hardly doubt anyone will question." His face twisted into an ugly smirk. "We will begin Wednesday night at 7pm."

Snape's sharp glare sent him hurrying out of the Potions professor's office and out into the cold corridors of the dungeons. He shouldered his bag and hurried toward Gryffindor Tower, clenching his teeth in irritation.

He was frustrated with himself for the way that everything seemed to go wrong for him. He was frustrated with Snape for surely using these lessons – whatever they were – to torment him even further. But most of all, he was frustrated with Dumbledore for avoiding him, for forcing him to take extra lessons with the git.

He stomped into the common room and found Ron and Hermione sitting at a table on the side of the room. They were both appropriately sympathetic when he plopped down and growled out the details of his meeting with Snape, although Hermione's eyes had lit up with the prospect of learning the complicated magic.

"Harry, if Professor Snape is an Occlumens, that means that he's a very powerful wizard. It really is hard to learn – hardly anyone knows how to do it. Oh, you _have_ to teach me," Hermione had begged.

Harry didn't care how rare Occlumency was, and he especially didn't care how powerful Snape's magic was. He just cared that he was stuck taking private lessons with _Snape._

oOoOo

Seven o'clock on Wednesday night found Harry in Snape's office. He had taken the lone chair that sat across the room from the man's desk and dropped his bag on the floor just as Snape had stood and walked around his desk to face Harry. The door, which Harry had left open in hopes of being able to make a hasty exit, snapped shut with a crack.

"Occlumency," the Potions Master began, crossing his arms across his chest, "as I told you before, is a very complex mind magic that only the most talented wizards can master. I do not attempt to pretend that I think you will be disciplined enough to become even marginally skilled at the art, naturally, as you are an exceptionally mediocre wizard – regardless of what the rest of the wizarding world chooses to believe."

Harry bit his cheek forcefully to keep from snapping back at the man, and ground out, "And how will I learn Occlumency?"

"I do not care whether we are in the Potions classroom or not, but you will address me as 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times, Potter." Snape's mouth thinned into a hard line. "Now, I will attempt to teach you Occlumency by Legilimizing you. Legilimancy is another form of mind magic that allows the user to read the emotions and memories of another."

"You're going to teach me by reading my mind?" Harry gasped, horrified. He reached for his bag immediately; he hadn't agreed to let Snape pick through all of his memories at will.

"Sit down, Potter. The Headmaster requested that I teach you Occlumency, and that requires your presence in my office, so _sit down,_ " Snape snapped when Harry didn't move.

Harry dropped back into the hard chair and glared at the older wizard. "You're going to teach me by reading my mind, _sir?_ "

Snape face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Legilimancy is not mind reading. The mind is not so simple as you seem to assume. It is very complex and layered, and requires much skill to interpret. Now, I will not be reading your mind, but I will be Legilimizing you so that you can learn to push me out – if your imbecilic brain can manage it."

Harry wanted to make an indignant retort, but Snape's eyes were flashing with a cold black fire, and Harry was convinced that the man was about to deliver him to Voldemort himself. He figured one jab from Snape wasn't worth the long and painful death that would surely ensue as a result, so he just replied, "How do I push you out?"

As Snape straightened from where he was leaning on the edge of his desk and moved closer, Harry caught sight of a large stone bowl sitting on the man's black desk. Harry recognized the Pensieve that he had seen – and invaded – in Dumbledore's office with a start. A silvery white substance swirled in the Pensieve gracefully, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what memory Snape would have hidden there and why he would have hidden it when Harry was the one who was about to have his mind ravaged.

Snape cleared his throat impatiently to draw Harry's attention away from the stone basin. "The most important step to Occlumency is to clear your mind and rid yourself of any emotion. Close your eyes and do it now."

Harry, although loath to close his eyes in the man's presence, forced his eyes shut and tried to drain the emotion out of himself. It was something that he had taught himself when he was younger and needed to keep Uncle Vernon happy, so it should have been an easy habit to fall back on, but Harry was finding it nearly impossible to clear his mind. Hate and irritation toward Snape were rushing through his veins and reminding him of why he shouldn't trust the man in the slightest.

Harry opened his eyes with a glare to find Snape looking at him intently.

"Pull out your wand. Your goal is to push me out with your mind, but for now, feel free to use any attempt to block me out. Ready, Potter? _Legilimens._ "

Flashes of memories were flying past his vision so quickly that the room around him blurred. The memories began to slow down and suddenly Harry found himself in the Shrieking Shack brandishing his wand at Sirius. Before he could focus too intently on the memory, it switched to a scene of him sitting on his bed and talking to Dobby before his second year. Suddenly the cake was falling from the ceiling as Harry watched on with horror. He was giving Hermione a thin grin across the train compartment just a week earlier. He was sneaking lotion from the Dursleys' cabinet for his sunburns from working in the garden. He was grabbing the goblet together with Cedric, the Portkey whipping them away and tossing them in the old graveyard.

"NOOO!" Harry screamed with an anger that bordered on desperation, and he suddenly found himself on his hands and knees in Snape's office again. Snape was looking down on him with distaste.

"You let me get too far. You lost control. I told you to clear your mind!"

"It's not that easy," Harry growled out, pushing himself up from the stone floor and gripping his wand tighter.

"Until you master your emotions, you will never master Occlumency. Now rid yourself of your anger and try again."

Harry badly wanted to hex the man, but he closed his eyes again and tried to reach for the familiar numbness that permeated his home life. He was finding it elusive once again, so he let the anger course stronger through him and opened his eyes.

" _Legilimens!_ "

He was standing in the courtroom and watching Dumbledore sweep in dramatically from behind, refusing to meet his gaze. He was opening his first chocolate frog card and wondering why Dumbledore's face wasn't in the tiny portrait on the card. Gilderoy Lockhart was lecturing him on fame and making him sign his fan mail. The dementors were drawing nearer and nearer to him and Sirius and as a woman began screaming, _'No, not Harry! Please not Harry!'_ , Harry found himself in Snape's office once again.

He collapsed onto the chair a couple feet behind him and pushed his sweaty hair up. Snape was looking oddly pale and disturbed, his eyes flickering to Harry's scar as his fringe was pulled away. It seemed that Snape had been the one to end the connection this time, for he seemed slightly off-balance as he turned back toward his desk.

Harry's head was pounding viciously, and he raised a hand to rub his aching scar as he recovered. Snape turned around almost immediately, and the scowl was fixed on his face once again.

"Get up," he bit out, his hands clenching the edge of the desk so tightly that his knuckles were unnaturally white. "You are not trying hard enough. Your attempt at defense is weak and pathetic, letting me peruse your mind and find any memory I desire."

Harry felt a pulse of fear down his spinal cord at the thought that Snape really did have full access to his memories. "Don't call me weak," he spat.

"Then prove to me that the Boy-Who-Lived is more than just a fool getting by on his fame alone. _Legilimens._ "

Harry was angry. He was so angry that it was coursing through his body like white-hot fire, scorching everything it touched. Snape seemed only to feed on that anger as he pushed and prodded Harry's mind, pulling up memories here and there.

Harry was ten years old at the zoo and the anger vibrated his bones as the glass to the snake's tank disappeared and Dudley fell in. He was thirteen and angry and devastated as Hagrid told him that Buckbeak had been sentenced to death. He was watching Dumbledore at the Head Table and feeling that unnatural rage rise within him just at the sight of the bearded man.

The theme of the memories shifted slightly as Harry found himself thrown into the Black Lake, the gillyweed not quite working yet and fear permeating Harry's mind. He was twelve and lying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, feeling the burn of Basilisk venom in his veins and fearing whatever would follow once the venom had run its course. He was running down the street from the dementors in Little Whinging, scrambling for his wand as Dudley punched him in the face and praying to Merlin that this wasn't how it all ended. He was watching Voldemort rise from the cauldron in the middle of the graveyard, horror mixing with the most fear he had ever felt in his life. Cedric was lifeless on the ground beside him, and –

"Did you notice anything about those memories, Potter?" Snape was asking, though Harry could barely hear him over the screaming of his brain as it tried to recover from the overload of fear.

"Aside from you intentionally looking for my worst memories?" Harry spat. "No."

Snape raised an eyebrow in warning. "I was drawing up memories linked to a particular emotion, like anger or fear. It is extremely easy to follow chains of memories if they are linked by emotion or even the small associations that you naturally form between memories. The Dark Lord will search for your worst memories and use them against you in an instant, which I can assure you is much worse than your Potions professor seeing you attacked by dementors."

Harry glared at the man, trying to mentally prepare himself for another mental attack.

"I think we are done for the day. I will see you next week at the same time, Potter." As Harry grabbed his bag and scrambled for the door without a second thought, Snape called, "Make sure you clear your mind every night before you go to bed. If you do not, I will know."

Snape gave Harry an unsettling smirk, and Harry ran from the classroom and back towards Gryffindor Tower, grateful for the ability to keep his thoughts to himself for the first time all night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It had been three weeks since the first Occlumency lesson. Three weeks of Snape invading his mind and pulling up personal memories, and Harry was sure that the man was doing it just to spite and embarrass him. And with every lesson, Harry was quickly learning that he was absolute rubbish at Occlumency.

Snape had instructed Harry to clear his mind every night before he fell asleep. Every night, he would climb into his comfortable four-poster bed and stare at the red and gold canopy that appeared almost black in the dim lighting of the dormitory. And every night, he would try to empty the emotions from his body, just as he had done for so many years at the Dursleys'.

But for some reason, his thoughts and his emotions never seemed to stop. They didn't just keep him from clearing his mind as Snape had instructed. They kept him from sleeping until the exhaustion that beat sluggishly through his mind and the grittiness of his tired eyes lulled him into a fitful sleep full of long hallways and dark, polished doors.

oOoOo

When Harry reached the door of Snape's office that Wednesday evening, his hand hesitated somewhere in the air between his body and the heavy wooden door before him. Before he had even worked up the courage to knock, the door flew open before him, revealing a towering, irritated Severus Snape.

"Are you going to linger outside my door all night and waste my time or are you actually going to enter?" Snape snapped irritably, and Harry moved past him into the office with a scowl that rivaled even the Potions Master's.

Harry moved to the hard-backed chair across the office and collapsed it as usual, trying not to make eye contact until he was ready for the man's mental intrusion. With as much of a mental shield as he could manage a month into the lessons, Harry met Snape's eyes.

" _Legilimens._ "

Harry had learned long ago that there truly was no way that he would be able to throw the Potions Master out of his mind. The man was a master Legilimens, and he certainly wasn't taking it easy on Harry's mind. Rather than trying to push him out completely though, Harry had been trying to teach himself some sort of deflection method. He hoped that by pushing his worst memories deep down in his mind and thrusting forward commonplace memories that he figured Snape wouldn't find suspicious, he would be able to keep the man from truly seeing the humiliating memories that he knew the hated professor was searching for. He doubted that it would truly work against Voldemort for long, but it was a start.

Harry was grasping for lightly embarrassing memories that Snape hadn't seen before, but he seemed to be running out of options. He pushed his very wet kiss with Cho to the forefront of his mind, leaving in the lighthearted commentary from his friends about him being an awful kisser that followed. When that memory had run its course, Harry pushed forward the memory of him fainting on the train as a result of the dementors before his third year. Malfoy teased him from the Slytherin table, and Harry dwelled on the shame of the memory just enough to keep the twisted smirk on Snape's sallow face.

Merlin, he wanted to punch the man.

"Why hold back, Potter? Why not take a shot at your old Potions professor?" Snape sneered, looking down his nose at the boy as Harry collapsed back into the chair behind him once the man was out of his mind again. He should have remembered that the bastard could know what he was thinking. "Why don't we see what happens to Dumbledore's Golden Boy then?"

Harry only sneered back, meeting the man's eyes with so much hatred that he could almost feel it twisting a black knot in his gut.

"Or," Snape drawled, leaning forward to place his hands on the armrests of Harry's chair, his crooked teeth only inches from Harry's face, "you could actually learn to block me out and maybe I wouldn't see all of your embarrassing memories."

Harry let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding when the man straightened and turned back toward his desk.

"You arrogant fool," the man spat, still facing away from Harry and leaning against his desk. "I give up my time to help you defend yourself against the Dark Lord, and you can't even respect me enough to spend ten minutes practicing closing your mind at night. The Dark Lord will take advantage of whatever he can, Potter, so maybe you should actually put some effort into trying to stop him instead of sitting back and assuming that your sheer dumb luck will get you out of every situation!"

Harry jumped to his feet in anger, shouting, "That's not fair!"

Snape spun abruptly. "It may have escaped your notice, Potter, but _life_ isn't fair!* You don't always get what you want! And let me remind you that you aren't the only one fighting this war. Your life isn't the only one on the line, and it never has been. The world doesn't revolve around you."

"I never said that it did," Harry protested hotly. "And I never asked anyone to die for me." He felt the truth of Snape's words burning into his chest, and he swallowed to rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling.

"Stop whining and start clearing your arrogant head." The anger in the man's voice had been replaced by a coldness that carried all the bite of the bitter winter wind blowing outside the castle walls.

Harry let himself fall back into the chair again, glaring at Snape with as much fury as he could muster. The anger seemed to come easily these days, and it seemed that when he lost his temper, it wasn't a leak of anger but rather a flood that overtook his whole being and left him reeling in shock afterward. This time, however, Harry didn't feel any shame in giving in to the flood of fury, and he let it engulf him until it almost felt like he was drowning in it. He hated the man standing before him with every fiber of his being, more than he had ever hated the Dursleys in their worst moments.

"Excellent, Potter," Snape drawled caustically. "Give in to the anger. Give the Dark Lord what he wants."

"I bet that's what you want, too," Harry growled under his breath so Snape wouldn't hear it, but the man stiffened, his dark eyes flashing with an icy anger that Harry didn't think he had ever seen from the Potions Master. Harry froze.

" _Legilimens,_ " Snape murmured in a voice that chilled Harry to the bone, and then Snape was in his mind with a brutality that Harry had never experienced.

Harry could physically feel the memories that were ripped and torn from the corners of his mind, and his head reeled with pain at the rough force. The memories were flying before his eyes with such velocity that Harry wasn't even sure that Snape was truly watching them. He was desperate to keep Snape from searching hard enough to find the memories of the Dursleys that he had hidden in the darkest, dustiest corner of his mind, so he reached for something – _anything_ – that would distract the man and keep him from rummaging.

He threw forward the first embarrassing memory that he could think of, without truly thinking much of it aside from the desperate hope that it would distract Snape. The memory flashed before his vision, and he barely felt the small hint of curiosity in Snape's presence in his mind, overshadowed as it was by the tsunami of anger from the man. Rather than throwing the memory from him and rummaging for a new one, Snape paused and let the memory unfold before both of their eyes.

Harry hadn't meant to pick a memory from the Dursleys', and he nearly froze in fear when he saw the perfectly manicured yard of Number 4 Privet Drive flash before them. In an instant, he heard whimpering and watched cautiously as a much younger Harry Potter flew through the back fence and down the street, a rather large and vicious pitbull chasing him down the street unrelentingly. Harry watched his younger self scramble up the large tree that stood in the front yard of Mrs. Figg's property, saw the flick of shutters from within the house, and heard the open sniggers of Dudley and his dreadful friends.

Snape was out of his mind immediately after the memory ended, and Harry looked down at the ground, the shame and embarrassment still permeating his body.

The Potions professor gave him an odd look as he questioned, "Have you been using this deflection method throughout our lessons up to this point?"

"I guess. I was just showing you the types of memories that I thought you would want to see so that you wouldn't go looking for more," Harry answered honestly. He could see the scowl forming on Snape's face again, so he bit out, "And it worked, didn't it?"

"It worked when I was hardly pushing into your brain, Potter. It will never work when the Dark Lord is ravaging your mind for any useful piece of information – he will destroy you. Besides, you panicked and gave it all away when you interrupted me and threw that memory forward. You managed to give away even your own pathetic efforts. Congratulations." The sarcasm dripped from every word. "However, deflection is a start, albeit a small one that you should be much past at this point in the lessons."

"Well, you were the one who was being so forceful," Harry said defensively, crossing his arms.

The older wizard scoffed in derision. "How charming. You expect the Dark Lord to be gentle when he enters your mind and lightly probes for information." Snape looked like he wanted to laugh, but he quickly schooled his features. "I believe congratulations are in order, Potter. You seem to be the biggest dunderhead in this school."

Harry ground his teeth together in frustration. "Look, you didn't figure it out for weeks. You forced me to teach myself how to defend myself, and I did. So with all due respect, _sir,_ I'll accept your criticism when you decide to accept your role as teacher."

Snape's eyes flashed again, and Harry wondered – not for the first time since he had found himself in Snape's office over the past few weeks – whether he had finally crossed the line and had just landed himself on Snape's short list of people who were to be finely diced into potions ingredients.

However, Snape just growled darkly. "Focus, Potter. Deflection seems wonderful for a beginner, especially since they are foolish enough to see that they have finally accomplished something and therefore believe that they have begun to master Occlumency. However, deflection is but the most beginner step to the art, and truly does not take much skill at all. It is incredibly easy to break through, especially since the memories that you are trying to hide are not truly hidden. If I decide to try to follow a trail of memories that are linked by embarrassment and you have hidden a particularly embarrassing memory, I will easily be able to find it because the trail will lead me right to it. _Legilimens._ "

Harry felt Snape's uncomfortable presence in his mind again, and he quickly began trying to pull memories to the forefront of his mind like he had in the past. However, Snape seemed to have a different agenda, and it didn't take the man long to find the memory of the pitbull at the Dursleys' house, especially since it was still fresh in Harry's mind.

Snape seemed almost curious, and dread shot through Harry as he felt the first movement of a memory that was pushing at his feeble shields. The memory burst through beyond Harry's control, and even as Snape victoriously began to view the memory before him, more memories came pouring out, quicker than Harry could attempt to patch the hole in his shields. And the worst part was that Harry knew what memories he had hidden behind those particular shields, and with a thrill of fear, he knew exactly what trail Snape was chasing.

Harry's shields had completely fallen, and he felt rather than saw the memories burst forth from the corners of his mind like an avalanche. In an instant, his vision was overtaken by memories of the Dursleys.

The memories were mild at first, for Harry had stored the best memories of his times at the Dursleys' close to the border of the shield just in case Snape had ever found them. Memories flashed through his mind rapidly – Harry baking a large chocolate cake for Dudley's birthday, Harry eating a piece of stale carrot cake while surrounded by Mrs. Figg's old cats, Harry drawing pictures at the kitchen table with broken crayons when his relatives weren't around to yell at him for it.

With the entirety of his pleasant – well, more like _least unpleasant_ – memories blown through in a matter of moments, the memories progressed in severity. Harry watched in horror as Aunt Petunia screamed at him for burning the bacon one morning, swinging the sizzling frying pan through the air in her displeasure and narrowly missing the side of Harry's head. He watched Uncle Vernon throw him in the cupboard and lock it, his purple face pressed against the grate just enough to glare at Harry in the darkness as he growled out, "No dinner." He watched himself slave over the windows and the garden and sneak sips of water out of the hose when his relatives weren't looking because it was only chance to quench his thirst on the hot summer day. He watched himself treat the nasty sunburns that came as a result of those days spent locked outside.

And then it got worse. Harry frantically attempted to push Snape out of his mind, but he could feel Snape pushing further into his mind, digging for more memories of the Dursleys. In an instant, Uncle Vernon was throwing a six-year-old Harry into the wall in the living room, the tiny bespectacled boy's head colliding with the wall with a loud thunk and a tiny rivulet of blood trickling down the side of his face from where his glasses had sliced into his face. Uncle Vernon was pushing him down the stairs, laughing when Harry cried at the bottom and stared in horror at his impossibly twisted index finger. Dudley was laughing and feeding Harry scraps of fat from his hand as if the young wizard was a dog while Harry's aunt and uncle looked on approvingly. Uncle Vernon was kicking him in the ribs while Dudley stomped on his nose, snapping his glasses in half as if they were made of toothpicks.

He recognized the next memory in an instant, from the too-thin sweaters handed down from Dudley that he had wrapped around himself in a vain attempt to keep warm to the faint echo of Christmas music that wafted through the glowing windows of happy families celebrating together to the mean undertone of Dudley's laugh that carried through the cold air along with the bandwagon, too-loud chuckles of the other members of his gang.

Harry wanted to cry. Snape couldn't see this – _anything but this._ As Dudley's gang pushed him to the ground and beat him half to death, their feet stomping heavily on any vulnerable body part that they could find as blood streamed from Harry's nose, mouth, and several large cuts on his arms and face, Harry pushed at Snape's intrusion in his mind with a desperation-born ferocity that he didn't know he had.

Snape was pushed from Harry's mind so forcefully that he actually stumbled back into his desk, catching himself on the edge before he fell. He cursed under his breath, whether from the memory that he had just witnessed or from the sharp bite of the corner of the dark desk against the man's hands, Harry didn't know.

The curse was enough to clear Harry's head, and he was on his feet before Snape could recover. Tears were streaming down Harry's face as he cried for the first time in years, but he kept his gaze level as he stared at Snape. The shock had melted quickly from the older man's face, his countenance now a perfect mask as he watched Harry calculatingly.

"Potter." The first words that had been spoken between them since the memory.

Harry grabbed his schoolbag and ran through the door as quickly as he physically could, finding himself in the corridor outside of Snape's office. He gratefully realized that the hallway was empty and set off running toward the moving staircases, hoping to recover himself before he reached more traversed sections of the castle.

His mind was a spinning mess of shame and desperation and horror, and he felt the nausea make its burning ascent up his throat as he emptied his stomach behind a tapestry with eyes streaming and abdomen clenching painfully.

The fact that Snape knew about his home life with the Dursleys was repeating itself like a mantra in his head, beating itself into his brain and branding itself to the inside of his eyelids. He couldn't stop seeing Snape's shocked facial expression as he fell backward against his desk as if in slow motion, the stoic mask not coming until Harry had already been on his feet and ready to run out the door.

It was over. Everything was over. All of the calculated lies and carefully applied glamour charms had been blown out of the water in a matter of minutes. Everything that he had worked to bury deep down inside had come to light and seemed to be finally spilling out with every half-strangled, gasping sob that he took as he hurtled up the stairs toward the only place that he could think of where he could be alone.

The castle seemed to recognize his desperation, for the stairs moved with an unusual haste and led him directly to the top of the castle. He skidded into the Astronomy Tower, breathing hard through the tears, clutching his abdomen as he nearly doubled over at the feeling of his stomach twisting painfully.

He walked toward the wide windows of the tower and looked around curiously as he pulled himself onto the ledge and carefully shuffled sideways until his back was firmly against the stone walls and the toe of his sneakers extended past the ledge and into the open air.

The sun had finished setting not long ago, and the sky had finally darkened enough for the stars to be clearly visible in the sky above Hogwarts. The light of the castle did nothing to diminish the winking twinkle of the tiny lights in the sky. His soul felt considerably more grounded as his eyes roved over the heavens in an attempt to find shapes, for at the moment he could not for the life of him remember a single constellation. Professor Sinistra would be disappointed, he mused thoughtfully.

The coolness that had settled over his soul from the sight of the stars gave him the courage that he needed to look down. The grounds of Hogwarts were dark, but he could see the Black Lake off in the distance, moonlight glinting off the smooth black surface that was interrupted only by the occasional stirring of the Giant Squid from the inky depths of the lake.

He looked down again at the grass beneath him, at the stone steps leading to the front doors of Hogwarts. Could he do it? Could he throw himself off the ledge? Leave his body lying twisted and mangled on the front steps for a poor, unsuspecting student or teacher to find in the morning? But most realistically, could he truly end his own life?

It had been a thought that had lingered in the back of mind for years, perhaps from the time that he realized that the way that his relatives treated him was not the way that children were really supposed to be treated. Sure, he had considered suicide a few times. He had even planned out how he would do it, but of course he had never gone through with it. But this was now. And this was very, very real.

" _Suicide,_ " he whispered to himself, letting the word hang in the frosty air in front of him, testing the way that it rolled off his tongue. " _Suicide._ I am going to commit _suicide._ "

A jolt of nausea ran through him again at the thought, but it was quickly overshadowed by the mess of emotions still coursing through his body. The shame was still beating through him like a drum, out-pounding even his racing heart. He knew that the news of his home life would be spread through the school by morning, and surely Hermione and Ron wouldn't want to associate with him after they learned of his weakness.

A small sadistic part of him wanted to be there to see everyone's reaction when they learned of his demise. Ron and Hermione would be sad, but certainly they would move on quickly. They had each other, and Harry could almost picture their eventual happiness without him.

Dumbledore would surely be disappointed, the constant twinkle in his electric eyes dimming momentarily at the loss of his pawn – his weapon to bring about the end of the war.

He could only hope that Snape wouldn't smile right away, at least not in front of Dumbledore and all of the journalists for the _Daily Prophet._ But surely when he reached his private chambers at the end of the night, he would break out the firewhiskey and perhaps even dance with the overwhelming elation of being free of Harry Potter.

And the Dursleys. Harry nearly let out a dark laugh at the thought of the Dursleys receiving the news of his death. He figured that they would be even more delighted than Snape at the thought of having the "freak" out of their hair. But they would also lose their house elf. Perhaps they would miss him a little – never his company, just his usefulness and his ability to serve as a punching bag and a conduit for their anger.

But then there was Sirius. Another painful jolt ran through Harry when he thought of the havoc that his death would wreak on his godfather. The thought of the anguish of the man that he loved so deeply nearly convinced him to shuffle back to the safety of the tower, but he steeled his will and clenched his teeth. Sirius had Remus. Remus would protect him, would comfort him and get him through it.

Because oh, nobody truly needed Harry Potter. Not one person. They would all get on just fine when he was gone. The best that he could hope for was a drink perhaps raised to the Boy-Who-Lived on the anniversary of his death – this date – this chilly seventh of February in 1996.

He had finally worked up the will to jump when he heard movement behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pretty much a direct quote from the movie _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ because I just love it


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Severus' ebony desk was cutting sharply into the palms of his hands from where he had caught himself on the edge of the wood. The sudden pain served to rouse him from the shock that seemed to be permeating his mind.

A muttered curse fell from his lips, and he snapped his mouth shut and carefully rearranged his face into his typical cool mask. He could only imagine the moronic look that had been on his face mere moments before.

Harry was standing before him, tears running unchecked down the boy's cheeks. His eyes were beyond bloodshot, his face so pale that it seemed to glow in the dim lighting of Severus's office.

"Potter." He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say or even what he was going to say, but he knew beyond a doubt that he certainly had to say _something_ to the distraught boy standing only a few feet away.

Or perhaps he didn't. With a strangled gasp, Potter dashed for the door, his book bag hanging haphazardly from one arm. The door slammed behind him, and Severus let out a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding. Clearly he had to go after the boy – especially since it was nearly curfew – but at least this way he had a few moments to collect himself before facing Potter again.

For the first time in years, Severus felt unsure about what to do. For the first time in years, the world seemed as if it had been turned on its head. Potter was abused?

A dark thought settled into Severus's mind, and he embraced it willingly. Of course Potter wasn't abused. It wasn't hard to believe that Potter had pushed forth the worst memories of his existence in an attempt to wrench some sympathy from the cold-hearted Potions Master.

In the back of his mind, Severus reminded himself that Harry hadn't pushed any memories forward. In fact, he had been trying to push the man from his mind from the moment that he felt his shields break. But the stoic Potions professor didn't let that bother him. He wouldn't suddenly go soft for the son of his worst enemy. Potter had lived to make his life a living nightmare ever since he had set foot in the castle. If he wanted to be dramatic, then let him be dramatic.

And therefore, when Severus found Harry Potter standing on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower and staring down at the ground below, he knew better than to take the boy seriously.

oOoOo

"Melodramatic as ever, Potter," came a deep, drawling voice from within the Astronomy Tower, and Harry flinched. He leaned further against the stone wall behind him and simply refused to acknowledge the man. The man was only doing his duty to the school, and as soon as he realized that there was nothing to be done – and, of course, that he didn't care about Harry at all – he would return to the dungeons to tell all of Slytherin house about the embarrassing things that he had learned that evening.

Harry couldn't help the scowl that marred his face, but it was hidden by the dark night.

"You've had your moment. Get down," Snape growled in irritation, and Harry could feel the dark eyes on his back. "Potter, I said _get down._ "

"No."

"As much as we both know you would love the attention that would come with a suicide attempt from the Boy-Who-Lived, we also both know that you aren't about to jump. So – and I'm saying this for the last time – _get down,_ " Snape snapped when Harry didn't move.

"No, no – you saw –" Harry ground out, unable to fully put the panic that was running through him into words. Now that the Potions Master had found him, he could feel his emotions seeping through the calmness that had permeated his body only moments before.

He wouldn't let Snape talk him out of this. Snape, who was derisive and mocking even when Harry was standing on a ledge trying to convince himself to jump. The urge to throw himself from the ledge was still grating on his nerves, the desperation pumping coldly through his body as if his veins had been injected with ice water. He had to jump. He had to do this. After everything that had been revealed tonight – and to the worst person possible – he had to bring everything to a grinding halt.

And this was the only way to stop it.

Snape huffed in exasperation, crossing his arms across his chest. "I saw what? A boy who didn't get everything that he wanted at home? Grow up, Potter. You are certainly not the only one who deals with problems away from Hogwarts, and I don't see any of them threatening to jump from the Astronomy Tower because they can't deal with it."

Harry's laugh was cold. "Do I look like I care? Tomorrow I won't have to worry about being compared to anybody."

"Cut it out. I'm not keen on spending the rest of my evening standing here and talking to you. I sacrifice enough of my time for you as it is."

The cold steel of Snape's voice was what finally hardened Harry's resolve.

"Then don't. But what will you tell Ron and Hermione – what will you tell Dumbledore when they ask you where you were the night that Harry Potter died? Will you tell them that you mocked him and watched him fall?" Harry inched his sneakers forward on the stone ledge until they were almost completely over the edge. He had put thought into everything except how to actually do this. Did he jump from the tower, putting as much force as possible into it? Did he simply lean forward and let gravity pull him to the steps below?

"That's irrelevant, Potter, because –"

Harry heard only the first syllables of Snape's surely acerbic remark, for he had finally leaned forward and allowed his feet to lose contact with the stone ledge. The shouted curse that reached his ears was nearly drowned out by the rush of wind.

Falling was brilliant. The wind was rushing past his ears loudly, buffeting him, making him feel as if perhaps he could float in the air between the tower and the ground forever. The feeling of giving up control of his life, of allowing gravity and the frozen ground below to determine his fate, seemed to clear his mind. The torrent of emotions settled into a delightful numbness. He smiled. It was finally over.

Falling was also incredibly short. And the ground was disappointing. And soft. And not-at-all damaging to his body. Cushioning, really.

Snape's pale face was cast in shadows, but Harry could still see him leaning out the window of the tower with his wand in hand. The anger on the man's face would have been shocking – if Harry could feel anything but blissful nothingness at the moment.

Snape shot a spell at him from the tower before disappearing from view, and Harry found himself paralyzed. Now that he couldn't move, there was nothing to do but wait for Snape to find him and unleash his fury on him.

The stars twinkled above Harry, and he found himself staring up at them for the second time that night. He thought that he could at least recognize the Big Dipper now that it wasn't blocked by the walls of the Astronomy Tower, and the North Star twinkled merrily along next to it.

The doors to Hogwarts burst open. Snape came flying through the heavy oak doors, his robes flying behind him in his haste. A wave of his wand cancelled the spell, and with it, all of the emotions that had previously been quelled came rushing back through Harry like a summer wildfire.

Harry was on his feet in an instant, rushing at Snape with fists flying. He collided with him rather ungracefully, beating his fists against the man's chest in his frustration as he shouted, tears threatening to spill again, "I hate you! I hate you! Why couldn't you just let me – I hate you!"

"Are you quite finished, Potter? If you lay your hands on me one more time, I will hex you into next week," Snape threatened lowly. Harry nodded, subdued, and dug his hands into the deep pockets of his robes in embarrassment. "Good. Now come with me. We are going to the Headmaster."

oOoOo

The full implications of the leap that Harry had just taken from the Astronomy Tower hit him while Snape was dragging him to Dumbledore's office. The shame of the incident wormed its way into his chest and made its home there, causing him to tuck his chin to his chest as he made his way down the corridor. His cheeks were flushed and burning.

Snape yanked him forward, his hand wrapped around Harry's bicep in a death grip. "Move, Potter. I don't have all night to deal with this."

Harry grunted in irritation but picked up the pace slightly. He had had enough of this. He didn't want to see Dumbledore. He didn't want to see Snape. He didn't even want to see Ron or Hermione, or Neville or Dean or Ginny. He just wanted to return to his dormitory and burrow himself in his comfortable four-poster bed and sleep off the tiredness that seemed to have settled into his bones.

His feet dragged slightly again, and Snape yanked him forward harder than the first time. Harry kept his head down and let himself be dragged down the hallway. Snape suddenly came to an abrupt stop, and Harry stumbled slightly, only recognizing where they were when his face almost met the rough stone of the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.

"Fudge flies," Snape spat, and the gargoyle leapt aside to reveal the staircase that led up to the office.

When Dumbledore opened the door to them at the top of the staircase, he looked surprised but delighted. However, when he saw Snape pull Harry up the stairs along with him, he looked both confused and concerned.

"Severus? Harry? To what do I owe the pleasure?" He gave Snape a long look before returning to his desk and motioning to the two cushioned chairs across from him.

"Perhaps Potter would like to explain that. He's the one who decided to jump from the Astronomy Tower mere moments ago," Snape ground out, glaring at Harry sharply. Harry shrank in his seat, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn again.

The usual twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes diminished, and it pained Harry to see the dull sadness that was prevalent now that it was gone. "Is this true, Harry?"

Harry gave the man a tiny nod, staring at his hands where they were fidgeting in his lap. He couldn't find the nerve to look the Headmaster, although he could feel the man's eyes on him.

Snape looked down on him disapprovingly from where he was sitting stiffly beside Harry. "Use your _words,_ Potter."

"Yes, sir, I jumped from the tower," Harry whispered, suddenly taking an immense interest in his cuticles. He picked at his left thumb until a tiny drop of blood appeared on the finger, and he dabbed it away disinterestedly.

"Harry, please look at me," Dumbledore murmured, his voice grave and gentle. Harry met Dumbledore's gaze immediately, although the sadness and concern lined in the man's aged face made him want to hide his face in shame once again. "Can you explain to me why you chose that course of action?"

Harry risked a glance at Snape, whose face was twisted into a deep scowl. The Potion Master's black eyes bored into his own, and Harry quickly turned his face back toward the Headmaster.

"I –" Harry paused. What did he tell the Headmaster? He couldn't completely confide in Dumbledore about his life with the Dursleys, especially after the man had sent him back summer after summer despite Harry's requests to stay with Ron or Sirius or really just anyone in the Order. He wasn't sure that Dumbledore truly knew the full extent of the Dursleys' cruelty, but the man had to know about it on some level. And besides, since Snape had forced himself into his memories, one too many people already knew the secret that he had buried under smiles and lies for years.

Harry glanced at Snape again. The man was truly glaring at him now. Harry forced himself to answer the Headmaster this time, as hard as his feelings were to put into words. "We had an Occlumency lesson, and Snape saw some memories that he didn't have _any_ right to see. And I know that he'll tell – I know that he'll – I don't know. I just knew that I couldn't have him seeing them, so I freaked out and just –"

"Just decided to take a little dive off the Astronomy Tower, didn't we?" Snape cut in nastily.

"I was upset, okay? I obviously wasn't thinking clearly, and it's not like you made it much better once you got there either!" Harry protested angrily, gripping the armrests of his chair.

Dumbledore gave them both a hard look, although Snape bore the brunt of it. " _Professor_ Snape, Harry," the man reminded him gently. "And I doubt that Professor Snape would use his knowledge of these private memories against you in any way." He threw another stern glance in Snape's direction.

"Of course not, Headmaster," Snape replied dutifully. Harry scowled and crossed his arms.

Dumbledore directed his attention toward Harry, who lessened his glower just the tiniest bit. "Harry, I am glad to hear you say that you weren't thinking clearly, but I am nonetheless concerned by your decision, and understandably so. As per both Hogwarts and St. Mungo's protocol, I cannot allow you to just return to your normal life without any intervention. A suicide attempt is a very serious matter, as I'm sure you can understand."

"I wasn't – I didn't mean to – "

"I'm sure that you truly didn't mean to end your life, but that doesn't change the severity of the situation, Harry." The sadness in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to deepen more than Harry had thought possible. Nausea and disgust with himself settled in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he had hurt the man so badly. "As I said before, there is protocol to follow – a suicide watch of sorts. Usually, we would send you to St. Mungo's, although that would be very public and undesirable, especially with the wizarding world's current view of you. The second option would be to stay in the Hospital Wing, which would be less public but would still catch the attention of students, which would cause unwanted rumors to spread. Therefore your third – and likely best – option would be to stay with a Hogwarts professor for a while. You would take a break from classes, and the professor would keep an eye on you to make sure that you were faring well until you were deemed ready to return to your normal life."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. If he had to be on suicide watch for a while, at least it could be done privately and with someone he trusted here at Hogwarts. "Oh, perfect. But are you sure Professor McGonagall would be okay with me – ?"

"You wouldn't be staying with Professor McGonagall, Harry. She has many duties to perform as Deputy Headmistress, and at risk of making myself sound positively ancient, she is not quite young enough to keep up with a fifteen-year-old boy," Dumbledore interrupted, a somewhat dulled twinkle appearing in his blue eyes.

"Okay, well if not McGonagall . . . definitely not Umbridge. Probably not Hagrid either. I can't really imagine staying with Flitwick. And I probably wouldn't stay with a professor that I didn't really know. So that means . . ." Harry eyes widened in horror, and even Snape stiffened with surprise as he reached the same conclusion as Harry.

Dumbledore gave life to the horrifying idea. "I think that your best option would be to stay with Professor Snape for a short while, Harry."

Snape was on his feet in an instant, his voice sharp and cutting as he spat, "Albus, you can't possibly – _best option?_ "

Harry was on his feet beside him, equally shocked and even angry, "Are you _mad?_ He just –"

Dumbledore merely smiled at them and gave his wand a quick swish. "I've just taken the liberty of moving your trunk and all of your things to Professor Snape's quarters, Harry. Remember to keep warm in the dungeons."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After the Headmaster's announcement, Snape had risen to his feet in outrage and sent Harry from the room, instructing him to wait outside the door to Dumbledore's office in a tone that allowed no arguments. Harry followed the man's instructions silently, his eyes on the Headmaster. Dumbledore's blue eyes were twinkling madly for the first time since he had discovered that Harry had jumped from the tower, and it made Harry think that perhaps Snape wasn't truly the best option (not that he ever would have been), that perhaps Dumbledore had some ulterior motive. He wanted to trust the Headmaster beyond all shadow of a doubt, but a crawling feeling beneath his skin was giving him second thoughts.

He slipped out the heavy wooden door and shut it firmly behind him. With his back against the door and his sweaty palms pressed against the wood, he could hear snippets of the conversation between Snape and Dumbledore. In fact, Harry didn't even have to try to listen to hear Snape rage at the Headmaster in the most disrespectful tone Harry had ever heard anyone use with the elder wizard.

Dumbledore let Snape have his say, and Harry clenched his teeth and his fists in anger as he heard his most hated professor spit insult after insult about him and his father. A hard ball of panic formed in Harry's gut and settled in, gripping tight to his organs so that Harry couldn't even hope of shaking off the feeling. It warred with the anger burning in his chest. Harry flattened his hair nervously with a clammy, shaking hand. Beyond the fact that he and the Potions Master shared a mutual hatred, he couldn't help but think that this arrangement would not end well at all.

Harry began to wonder if perhaps it would just be better for everyone if he simply returned to the Astronomy Tower and jumped again, this time without Snape to cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground below. He wondered if instead it would be better to find a more foolproof method – one with a much slimmer chance of a professor walking by and stopping him. Or maybe he could just wait until everyone had let their guard down and then try again. Harry wanted out of life, and he didn't care how it happened, as long as it did. He began running through his options, just as Dumbledore calmly interrupted Snape's ranting in a gentle voice that Harry had to strain to hear.

"Severus, you made a promise."

Harry paused and this time turned so that his ear was flat against the solid oak of the door. Snape had made a promise, but to whom and about what? And how did Harry somehow get dragged into the mix? He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he held his breath in an attempt to hear the conversation.

Snape's response was a low growl. Harry could picture the way that he would be leaning over the desk and spitting the words into the Headmaster's face, and Harry was certainly glad that he wasn't the one on the end of Snape's glare at the moment. "That promise cannot possibly include this."

"You made a promise, Severus," Dumbledore gently reminded again.

"Yes, to protect, to keep alive, to-to look after if all else failed, but –"

"To look after if all else failed, you say. All else has failed, my boy. Harry has thrown himself from the Astronomy Tower with – we can only assume – the intention to end his life. You may not like him, but you made a promise to Lily to keep that boy safe. The best and perhaps only way to protect Harry, to keep him alive, to look after him, is to take him in and make sure that he doesn't try anything like this again."

"Tonight was an impetuous, attention-seeking leap, not a desperate-to-end-all fall, Albus. The brat isn't suicidal. I merely saw a few memories that he didn't want me to see, and he acted out of embarrassment and rash immaturity, out of a need for everyone's eyes to be on him, especially in the midst of a year during which the Ministry has suddenly turned its back on him. This is uncalled for, unnecessary, and – quite frankly – blatantly foolish," Snape protested lowly. Although the panic was wriggling deep in the organs of his abdomen, Harry pressed his ear harder against the door. Curiosity was burning through his veins, and quite honestly, he didn't care what Snape said about him at the moment as long as the man elaborated on the promise that he had made to Harry's mother.

Snape had insulted James Potter countless times, had screamed and spat and sneered and scorned, had berated Harry for being the spitting image of his lazy, arrogant father for all of his four and a half years at Hogwarts. Yet Snape had never once said a single word – good or bad – about Harry's mother. The bitter Potions Master had never given any indication that he knew Lily Potter in any way, yet somehow he had made a promise to her. A promise to protect Harry. _Harry,_ of all people.

Harry's head was spinning; he couldn't wrap his mind around Snape trying to protect him. His mind flashed back to his first year, at his utter surprise when Quirrell revealed that Snape had been protecting him the entire year. He hadn't been able to understand why Snape would try so hard to keep him alive when he clearly hated him so much, but perhaps this was the reason? Before Lily died, he had promised her that he would protect Harry?

Harry slid down the door until his back was flat against the wood and his knees were pulled up to his chest. There was too much to think about. He didn't want to think about Snape or his parents or promises between the two parties. He _especially_ didn't want to think about living with Snape or dealing with the aftermath of his leap from the Astronomy Tower or jumping from the tower at all. In fact, he didn't want to think at all anymore. He didn't want to have to figure out everything for himself because every damn person in the world seemed like they were out to get him. He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to breathe anymore. He didn't want to live anymore. The need to be gone – to end the pain and confusion and insanity – seemed to be overwhelming, pressing on every inch of his brain, making his head ache. As much as he had wanted to simply end it all when he was sitting in Snape's office watching him view his worst nightmares, as much as he had desired to just disappear when he stood on the edge of the Astronomy Tower – punctuated by his relief as he was actually falling through the air and his numb disappointment when he found himself still alive upon the impact with the ground below, nothing compared to the way that he felt now.

But now was not a good time. Now would mean that he would be caught again, and most likely sent to St. Mungo's as a result. Now was the worst moment of his entire life, so Harry bowed his head against the waves of emotions and let himself be dragged under as he sat there outside Dumbledore's office, crushed by the weight of the world.

oOoOo

When Severus finally emerged from the Headmaster's office, tired and frustrated and ready to forget that the events of the evening had occurred at all, he found Potter blocking the door. The brat's weight kept the door from opening more than a few inches.

A particularly hard shove against Potter's body caused a, "Hmm? Whaa?" to fall from the boy's mouth, a sure indication that he had fallen asleep in the hour or so that Severus had just spent arguing with the Headmaster.

Dumbledore was so certain that Harry's best option was to stay in the dungeons, and when Dumbledore had set his mind to something, it took a gale force of reason to change it. Perhaps Severus had simply presented his perfectly sound reasoning with the force of a small thunderstorm, for somehow he had still been instructed to escort the Potter boy to his new home in the dungeons.

"Potter, get up," he spat, his words punctuated with another shove of the door. "It is exceptionally late and you happen to be blocking my departure from Professor Dumbledore's office."

Severus figured that was nearly as polite as he could be to Potter, but he had to look like he was trying in front of Albus. He owed everything to the silver-haired old man, and he certainly wouldn't throw away his future for someone as worthless and arrogant as the boy currently blocking his path.

Potter scrambled up quickly and moved out of the range of the door, still looking quite confused. The exhaustion was obvious in his glazed eyes and dark eye circles, and Severus couldn't help but understand why the brat was so tired. He was probably emotionally, physically, and mentally worn out from the night's events.

Regardless of his moment of softness – which Severus pushed away from his mind in disgust – he gripped Potter's upper arm in an iron grasp and began to drag the boy down the spiral staircase and toward his quarters in the depths of the dungeons.

Potter attempted to slap Severus' pale hand away from his arm in irritation. Finding his efforts fruitless, he finally growled, "Let me go. I think I can find my way to the dungeons without you guiding my every step."

Severus pushed the boy away from him roughly. Potter stumbled a bit and shot him a nasty glare, rubbing his surely-bruised upper arm with his opposite hand. Despite his stumbling, he fell into line behind Severus immediately.

As they neared his quarters, Severus finally ground out, "I have dealt with you tonight more than I would have liked to in a lifetime. When we reach my quarters, you will retire to your room without question or complaint. We shall cover the rules of my home in the morning."

They finally reached the blank stretch of wall carefully bordered by a portrait of Salazar Slytherin and a beautiful tapestry in shades of emerald and silver. He enunciated the password clearly to make sure that Potter heard it as well, and then he was dragging the boy through the small entrance hall that led to his sitting room.

"Your bedroom," he hissed, and pushed Potter toward a plain black door that had magically appeared in the wall in the time that Severus had spent away from his quarters during the day. He watched the brat pull the door shut behind him before retiring to his own bed.

He had certainly had enough of Potter for a lifetime, but it seemed that his dreaded time with the brat was only beginning.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

When Harry awoke, he found himself under unfamiliar bed hangings. He quickly found his glasses in the dark by groping around on the bedside table and slipped them on. Even with his glasses, it was too dark in the room to make out anything more than vague shapes. There didn't seem to even be a window, so he was unable to ascertain what time it was. However, he could clearly see that Ron's four-poster bed was not in its usual place beside his, and the rest of his dorm mates' beds were missing as well.

So he wasn't in Gryffindor Tower. But if he hadn't returned home last night, where had he ended up? He wracked his brain as he silently slid out of bed, trying to remember what had happened after his – _oh_ – after his spectacular leap off the Astronomy Tower. Shame burned through his nerve endings as he tried to remember what had happened after he had thrown himself off the tower and then attacked Snape for saving him.

The first traces of panic began to set in as he realized that he couldn't find his wand anywhere – not on the bedside table or in the pocket of his robes or under the pillow or anywhere. The floor was icy under his feet as he snuck through the door, which had been left slightly ajar.

He found himself in an unfamiliar sitting room, with black leather couches and a roaring fire that warmed the stones under his bare feet a bit. It comforted him slightly. Anyone who had kidnapped him or wanted him dead most likely wouldn't leave his door open or light a fire.

Harry stepped into the sitting room and walked past the couches, taking in the tall bookshelves overflowing with thick and scholarly texts that made up the back wall. He figured that Hermione's house would probably look a lot like this one day, and the thought made a small smile curve his lips.

He nearly jumped a foot in the air when a deep, smooth voice from the other side of the sitting room questioned, "Do my bookshelves amuse you, Potter?"

Harry's eyes snapped up to find Snape sitting calmly at a table of ebony wood. A covered plate of food was sitting at the chair directly across from him.

"Come sit. As I said last night, the first thing we will discuss will be the rules of my home. I don't want you here, just as you don't want to be here, but you will pay me respect or I will ship you to St. Mungo's without a second thought." The man's voice was cold but he waved his hand toward the seat across from him.

Harry sat across from the Potions professor, not daring to touch the plate of food in front of him. He figured that it was highly likely that Snape had similar punishments to Uncle Vernon's, meaning that he might not get to eat until he proved that he deserved to, whether that was by chores or homework or some other task.

"Firstly, some boundaries," Snape began, his dark gaze seeming to stare into Harry's soul. He averted his eyes to the steaming plate in front of him, its contents hidden by a silver lid. "These are my personal quarters within the castle, which I figure even your dunderheaded brain was able to deduce. Clearly you have already become acquainted with the sitting room and dining room, as well as with your personal bedroom. The kitchen is there." He pointed off to his right, where a small kitchen complete with a pantry, sink, and a small stove and icebox that Harry figured must be powered by some sort of magic. Snape quickly continued, drawing Harry's attention away from the kitchen as he gestured to the door on the other side of the table. "Through that door is my office, which you have never found much use for in the past. Clearly you have seen the bookshelves, and I require that you ask me before perusing any of the tomes, although I sincerely doubt that you would ever be tempted. The restroom is adjacent to your bedroom. And down the hallway are my bedroom and potions lab, both of which you are forbidden to ever enter without my express permission. Do you comprehend, Potter?"

Harry met the man's steely gaze and nodded quickly. He couldn't imagine why he would ever want to enter Snape's lab, much less the man's bedroom, anyway.

" _Eat,_ Potter. Even you should know that it is disrespectful to blatantly ignore the breakfast that I had the house elves provide you, especially after you slept well into the middle of the day and wasted my entire morning," Snape snapped in irritation.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied meekly, and removed the lid from the plate to reveal a heaping pile of scrambled eggs. The steaming eggs were accompanied by buttered toast, sausage, and a small side of cantaloupe. Harry stared down at the delicious breakfast in disbelief. He had hardly expected a meal comparative to one he would have received in the Great Hall, but he certainly wasn't going to question the Potions Master's small act of hospitality. Snape could be just as cruel as Uncle Vernon, but at least he was going to let Harry eat. Harry dug into the food vigorously, finding that he was much hungrier than he had thought.

"Now, I fully expect that you will respect me at all times. You will refer to me as 'sir' or 'Professor' any time that you address me, and you will heed my instructions regardless of your personal feelings about them. And I _highly_ advise that you keep your temper in check and learn to control your emotions and respect your superiors, or there will be consequences." Snape's voice dropped to a low hiss toward the end of his sentence.

Harry froze, a bite of sausage suspended halfway between his plate and his mouth. He carefully lowered his fork and set it down on the plate as he forced himself to meet Snape's gaze. "And what will my punishments be, sir?"

Something like surprise flickered across the man's face, although it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. "Are you expecting to be punished, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm Harry Potter. Not only do I find trouble nearly every day of my life, but I also happen to be stuck living with you. Don't pretend that you don't hate me as much as I hate you, _sir,_ " Harry spat, meeting the man's gaze challengingly.

" _Respect me,_ Potter!" Snape growled, his eyes flashing in anger.

"I believe I asked what my punishments would be, _sir,_ " Harry said in a hard voice, breakfast forgotten and hands clenching the edge of the table in irritation.

Snape's voice had returned to its cool drawl when he responded. "You will perform normal detentions in which you will write lines or scrub cauldrons or do whatever else I see fit. I am not your parent, regardless of our current situation, and I am most certainly not your uncle. Your punishments will be carried out exactly as though I were your professor, as though I were handing out detentions like nothing had changed."

Harry had reached for a piece of toast, but at the man's words he dropped it back onto his plate. Crumbs scattered across the table as Harry met Snape's gaze. The man's expression was unreadable, and Harry figured that his was as well. Emotion was barreling through his veins, but he couldn't tell if he was being dominated by anger or embarrassment, confusion or relief. Snape had given his first remark on the memories that he had viewed the night before, and Harry couldn't think around the rushing in his head. He didn't want the reminder that Snape knew all of his deepest secrets, and he especially didn't want Snape to make thoughtless comments about his home life.

Regardless of his mixed feelings, Harry coolly responded, "I just like to know what to expect from people, sir."

Snape merely watched him for a moment, before saying, "Very well."

oOoOo

Harry was sitting on the sofa and staring aimlessly at the fire when Snape approached him. He ignored the man intently, studying instead the cracking and popping coming from the grate.

"The Headmaster has another request of you," Snape intoned, his voice carrying a slightly bored and irritated drawl that gave Harry the impression that Snape didn't necessarily approve of Dumbledore's idea.

Harry turned to look at the Potions Master. He was leaning forward on the back of the sofa, a nicely bound leather notebook held in one hand. Snape handed the notebook to him, and Harry flipped through it. The black leather was smooth beneath his fingers, the pages creamy and crisp.

"You are to write in that at least once a day," Snape said. His gaze was still on the notebook that was now grasped in Harry's pale hands.

"And am I supposed to write about my _feelings,_ sir?" Harry sneered, unable to help himself. He knew that Dumbledore should have been the target of his anger about the situation he had been put in, but Snape was here and he was a right bastard as it was, so he was just have to do.

Snape's eyes narrowed and met Harry's gaze, a clear warning about his attitude. "Any more disrespect, and you'll find yourself scrubbing cauldrons until next Wednesday.

"I don't bloody care what you write about, Potter. Just write."

Harry narrowed his eyes in return, letting the notebook sit in his lap so he could cross his arms. "Then you won't be reading what I write?"

Snape huffed in irritation. "I've got enough to do _without_ reading about the poor hurt feelings of an arrogant schoolboy who thinks he is abused and therefore should receive extra special treatment, I should think."

"I'm not arrogant!" Harry snapped, crossing his arms tighter across his chest angrily. "I'm – I'm – "

"Arrogant enough to jump off the Astronomy Tower and leave a mess for everyone to deal with," Snape finished for him, a smug smirk twisting his lips.

Harry stood abruptly, clenching his fists at his sides in anger as he turned to face Snape. "Then maybe next time I won't leave a mess!" he shouted, and Snape merely arched one dark eyebrow in response. "Maybe I'll just disappear, and none of you will be able to find me! How would you feel then?"

"Harry Potter all alone without his friends and the wizards and witches who have kept him alive all these years? You'd be sitting in the Dark Lord's sitting room within five minutes." Snape's laugh was bitter and cold, and Harry shivered involuntarily.

"I lived without friends and without _anyone_ to protect me for eleven years! I think I could manage it now," he protested hotly.

"Oh yes, because one small muggle family is the equivalent of the Dark Lord and all of his followers searching for you as soon as they get word that you have left Hogwarts," Snape drawled silkily, his dark eyes never leaving Harry's green ones. Harry prepared himself for the intrusion into his mind, but it never came.

"I was more terrified of my uncle and his belt than I ever will be of the Dark Lord," Harry replied in a low voice, and Snape's face grew incredulous.

"Oh, Merlin forbid you should receive a few light hits with the belt whenever you misbehave," Snape mocked, his eyes flashing. "Maybe you should just disappear off to your relatives' home again. Maybe a few light slaps and spankings would do you well, innocent Mr. Potter. Maybe they would remind you that if you were with the Dark Lord or any of his followers, you would be tortured and killed. Shall I impart to you what the Cruciatus feels like?"

"I already know," Harry snapped. Images were flashing through his head, countering all of Snape's mocking words – images of his back bruised and bleeding after "a few light hits with the belt," of his brain confused and concussed after "a light slap" with the frying pan. And now, he could see himself in the graveyard again, standing over Cedric's body, watching the light fade from his eyes as easily and quickly as if someone had extinguished a match. He could feel the pain burning through his veins, shooting along his nerves, fraying and tearing at his sanity, at his consciousness. "What do you want to know about it? The excruciating pain running along every nerve ending in my entire body? The slipping grip I held on my sanity? The way that my hands shook for days after and my limbs felt jerky and uncoordinated because my nerves were shot and my muscles didn't quite respond to me right anymore?"

The surprise flickered across Snape's face so quickly that Harry thought he must have imagined it. "Then you should know which of your two so-called evils is the lesser threat."

"Perhaps, but I'm also the one who determines how threatening both of those evils are."

"Then go ahead and disappear off to your relatives' house and hide behind the blood wards." Snape paused, then continued nastily. "Oh, and don't forget to owl me whenever you accidentally bump your head on the spider-infested ceiling of your broom closet bedroom. I'll be sure to send your _abused_ self a potion in return."

Harry didn't know if Snape had ever seen his cupboard in the memories that he had viewed the night before, but his assessment of his broom closet bedroom was a little bit too close for comfort. The man was either blissfully unaware or he was truly the biggest bastard that Harry had ever met, but his words cut somewhere deep inside anyway.

"Maybe I would owl you for a potion for my bruises and my bleeding back but that would only be if I was actually returning to the Dursleys, wouldn't it? When I said _disappear,_ I didn't mean just disappear from Hogwarts. I meant that I wanted to disappear from – "

This time Snape's eyes really did widen in blatant shock. He recovered quickly and bit out, although without his usual venom, "Regardless, there are some cauldrons waiting to be scrubbed in the Potions classroom at the moment. When you are finished, you will write in your notebook, which I expect you to treat better in the future, since it was a gift from Professor Dumbledore."

Harry looked down and picked up the notebook from where it had fallen haphazardly on the floor when he had stood up in anger. He smoothed the bent cover and slipped the notebook into the large pocket of his robes as he made his way through Snape's quarters and office and into the Potions classroom.

The cauldrons were heavy and drenched in the viscous remnants of old potions, but Harry had cleaned for most of his life and he certainly hadn't forgotten. He filled each of the cauldrons with warm, soapy water and let them sit for ten minutes before scrubbing vigorously. The gunk came off quicker than expected with Harry's method, and within two hours, he was sitting at the kitchen table in Snape's quarters again, writing just four words at the very top of the first page.

_Snape is a git._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Harry awoke early the next morning. It seemed that sleep had evaded him for the time being, so he dragged himself out of bed and padded out his bedroom door. The quarters were dark and cold, silent but for the quiet sounds of the dying fire. Its orange glow fell dimly upon the black leather sofa sitting in the middle of the sitting room.

Harry settled himself on the sofa before the fireplace, figuring that the reason he hadn't yet been snapped at was because Snape was sound asleep in his bed down the hallway. As he should be. As Harry should have been.

Instead, Harry's thoughts swam through his mind at dizzying speeds. His mind couldn't stop, couldn't slow down, but it seemed as if his emotions had given up altogether. His chest was permeated by an all-encompassing numbness, a cold deadness that spread through his body and settled into his very bones. It was a stark change from the anger that had burned through his veins the day before when talking to Snape.

He lay back onto the sofa, propping his head up on the armrest, and watched the light from the glowing embers play across the ceiling. His tired brain saw shapes in the flickering glow, and it wasn't until Harry thought that he saw Voldemort's face staring down at him from the ceiling and shivered violently that he realized he was cold. The chill of the dungeons had settled deep into his body, and he instinctively reached for his wand to reignite the fire, only to remember that he didn't have it. He made a mental note to ask Snape for it later that day.

Realizing that the prospect of warming up was hopeless, Harry settled back into searching for figures dancing on the stones above him, watching the orange light shimmer into fading shadow and back into light again. It was only after he imagined Snape's countenance sneering down at him and his mother's kinder one smiling at him that he finally drifted back to sleep. His dreams were plagued with images of his mother's red hair, a mix of beauty and horrific nostalgia.

oOoOo

Severus pulled his bedroom door closed behind him with a muffled click. The swishing of his heavy robes seemed loud as he made his way down the hallway in the still quiet of his rooms. It was still very early, so he figured that Potter would still be in bed like any normal fifteen-year-old.

He passed the brat's bedroom door and found it wide open. As he knew for a fact that Potter had closed his door before he went to bed, Severus slipped inside. The bed was empty, the sheets and blankets crumpled and strewn across the mattress.

"Bloody idiot," Severus growled, wondering where Potter had wandered off. He knew Potter owned that damned Invisibility Cloak; he had wandered through the corridors past curfew countless times in the past four and a half years. However, a quick peek into the boy's trunk revealed the cloak lying in a bunched-up heap atop Potter's school supplies.

Pushing down the urge to confiscate the cloak, Severus exited Potter's room. He needed only to take a couple of steps into his sitting room in order to spot the brat. Potter was passed out, lying on his stomach on the sofa in front of a fire that had gone completely cold. It was easy enough to tell that Potter was a restless sleeper, for his hair was a mess and both his white t-shirt and baggy sweatpants had ridden up, revealing one skinny calf and the pale, smooth skin of his back.

Severus was about to snap at the boy and call him to attention when he noticed something that made him stop short. He leaned in closer, trying to examine Potter without waking him up, for he was suddenly sure that he had caught sight of a pale sliver of scar tissue on Potter's lower back. Severus' closer examination revealed the clear imprint of a belt buckle on the boy's skin, the faint appearance a sure sign that the scar was years old. A few other scars littered the boy's back, including a long one that started below the waistline of Potter's sweatpants and disappeared under his t-shirt.

Severus was sorely tempted to push up Potter's shirt and examine the rest of his back, but he couldn't risk waking him up. Instead, he flicked his wand at the fireplace. The fire roared to life in an instant, sending light and warmth throughout the room.

Potter woke with a start, jumping to his feet. His emerald eyes were guarded as he glanced around the room, finally letting his gaze rest on Severus.

"I provided you with a bed for a reason, Potter. Use it," he snapped, leading the way to the table so that they could eat breakfast.

Potter didn't respond but followed dutifully, taking the seat across from Severus at the table. Severus snapped his fingers, and two full plates appeared before them. Potter dug in immediately, but the Potions Master waited for a moment, watching the teenager before him.

Severus tried to think back to the memories that he had seen two nights ago. He had clearly seen that Potter wasn't spoiled at home, but that didn't mean that the boy deserved special treatment. He had seen dozens of abuse cases come through Slytherin house – hell, he had come to Hogwarts from an abusive household all those years ago – but Potter was different. He was brash and arrogant, defiant and angry. He showed blatant disrespect for authority. But the scars on Potter's back told a different story.

Severus began eating slowly. He didn't want to dwell much on Potter or his home life. He would go on treating Potter like the arrogant brat that he was. Was he expected to suddenly go soft and baby Potter into not jumping off the Astronomy Tower again? No, he certainly wouldn't. And Potter wasn't suicidal. He couldn't be.

"Um, Professor?" The boy's grating voice reached his ears.

"What?" he snapped around a mouthful of toast.

"Do you think I could have my wand back?"

Severus shook his head. "Your wand is in my possession for the time being. The headmaster has asked me to hold onto it lest you try to" – he sneered – " _hurt yourself._ You will be permitted to use it only during lessons."

"Lessons?"

"You will continue with your schoolwork while you are residing here. I will teach you."

Potter grimaced, but Severus couldn't blame him. He felt the same way about teaching the brat. Another thought occurred to him suddenly.

"Potter, when were you put under the Cruciatus?"

Potter's eyebrows rose in surprise before furrowing angrily. "Why do you want to know? Wish you had been there to see it happen?"

Severus glared and waved his wand. A vial flew into his hand and he set it firmly in front of the boy across from him. The potion was milky white, shimmering slightly as the liquid swirled around the container. "This potion aids nerve regeneration. Now tell me – when did you experience the curse?"

Potter looked down at his plate. He pushed a few pieces of cubed fruit around before he answered. "Last year in the cemetery. I dueled a bit with – with Voldemort and – "

Severus hissed at the pain that the name elicited in his mark. "Don't say his name."

"What, are you _scared,_ Professor?" Potter bit out.

"Fear has nothing to do with it, Potter," he replied easily, although he narrowed his eyes slightly. He would make Potter respect him if it was the last thing he did.

Potter rolled his eyes. "Sure it doesn't. Anyway, yeah, it was in the cemetery last year."

"The Cruciatus affects your nerves for about a year, depending on how long you experience it for. This nerve regeneration draught becomes less and less effective the longer you wait before you take it, but it should help a bit." He nodded toward the potion between them on the table and Potter swallowed it, screwing up his face as he did so. Severus related to that, at least. The potion went down with the consistency of curdled milk.

He rose from the table. "The house elves will clear the dishes when you finish. Meet me in the sitting room in an hour to begin your lessons for the day."

With that, he disappeared into his office, leaving Potter still eating at the table.

oOoOo

Exactly one hour later, Harry emerged from his bedroom for his lessons. He had spent the hour penning letters to Ron and Hermione about his living situation before he had realized that Hedwig was up in the Owlery and he had no way of getting to her. He doubted Snape would let him leave the dungeons at all under Dumbledore was sure about his mental health anyway. Although it seemed like the first time Dumbledore had looked at him all year was in his office two nights ago.

Snape was sitting on the armchair in front of the fire, so Harry took a seat on the sofa. He set his heavy pile of schoolbooks on the coffee table in front of him.

"Actually on time for once, Potter," Snape sneered as he turned to face him. "Pull out your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. We'll begin there."

Harry smiled grimly as he removed the book from the rest of the stack. "I'll actually be casting the spells, sir?"

Snape raised an incredulous eyebrow. "No, you'll just be reading the theory and expecting to do well on your OWLs. Don't be a fool, Potter. Of course you will be casting spells." He removed Harry's holly wand from the pocket of his robes and placed it on the coffee table next to the Defense textbook.

Harry rolled the familiar wand between his fingers as he opened his book to the tenth chapter and began to read.

Suddenly, Snape cut in, "Are you telling me that Umbridge isn't letting you cast any spells? That she is focusing her class only on theory?"

Harry looked up, then slid into his best impersonation of his hated Defense professor. " _Hem, hem._ Quills out, wands away, students. . . That's a week's detention for spreading lies, Potter!" – Harry switched into his own voice – "But Professor, I haven't done – " – Harry began impersonating Umbridge again – "Another week of detention, Potter!"

"She's not letting you cast spells," Snape repeated pensively.

"We formed a defense club this year in order to teach other students, especially the younger ones, how to defend themselves. It's not just Gryffindor either – "

"I suppose you don't have any Slytherin students in your defense club, do you?" Snape's voice was cold.

"No, but they'd be welcome to join. They would just have to talk to me so I could get them signed up and let them know when the next meeting is," Harry replied, his voice carrying a hard edge to it at Snape's coldness.

"Oh, but of course," Snape said sarcastically, then pointed at the textbook. " _Read,_ Potter. Rest assured that we will be practicing the material."

oOoOo

"What are you doing, Potter?" Snape suddenly asked in a low, silky voice, and Harry knew in an instant that he had messed something up badly.

Harry looked down at the Potions textbook that lay open by his left hand and then at the dandelion root that he had been preparing to throw into his cauldron. "Um, I'm about to put the dandelion root in. . ." Harry said tightly, unsure of his mistake.

"Read me the instructions exactly."

"'Once the potion turns pale yellow, sprinkle one handful of minced dandelion root evenly and stir counterclockwise six times.'"

Snape's sneer was prominent on the sallow face as he growled, "Then why, for Merlin's sake, is your dandelion root not so much minced as _utterly destroyed?_ " The roots did look rather poorly minced when Harry looked at them again. "Get new roots and mince them properly this time."

Harry ran off to the ingredients cupboard in the corner of Snape's lab. He found the jar of dandelion root fairly quickly because it had been left at the front of the shelf.

Snape really did have a beautiful private lab. Everything in the room was clean and pristine, kept in perfect order. The ingredients in the cupboard were organized alphabetically in glass jars with the exception of the light-sensitive materials, which were kept in jars of dark glass and stored in a box to one side of the cupboard.

Harry began mincing his dandelion roots again, taking special care to do it properly this time. He could feel Snape's dark eyes on him, waiting to find a reason to criticize his work again. If Harry had thought that Potions class had been bad in the past, private lessons were _dreadful._ Snape sneered and snapped at him twice as much as normal, degrading him every chance that he got. Harry had to admit that his potion did look halfway decent for all the effort that he had put into it, though.

Harry's knife moved swiftly over the roots, and he pretended that he was mincing garlic for dinner at the Dursleys. It was familiar – although unpleasant – and he quickly fell into a rhythm. The roots looked perfectly minced when he finished, and he sprinkled them over the potion evenly, stirring counterclockwise six times. The potion turned a deep orange.

Snape had been watching him carefully throughout the entire process, his own potion bubbling happily behind him. He finally bit out, "Five years of Potions classes, Potter, and you still haven't figured out how to mince one simple ingredient. Pitiful."

"My roots were perfectly minced that time!" Harry protested, beginning to grind dragon scales into a fine powder with his mortar and pestle.

"And I'm sure that your mincing expertise comes from all the cooking you must have done back home?" Snape had a smug little smirk across his face, one that Harry wanted to wipe away with his fist.

"I did all the cooking for my relatives," Harry ground out. "In case you even cared."

"If you're even half as dreadful at cooking as you are at Potions, I would most likely treat you in the same way you say your relatives did. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that you probably deserved it," Snape sneered.

Harry felt fury erupt in his chest, and he lunged across the table at Snape, throwing mortar and pestle and half-powdered dragon scales everywhere. One swift flick of the dark wizard's ebony wand had Harry dangling in the air by one ankle. He was truly grateful that he had removed his outer robes to brew or his situation would be more uncomfortable and embarrassing than it already was; he didn't want his robes over his face.

"Let me go! How dare you!" Harry yelled, struggling in the air and trying to break free of the jinx. "You have _no right!_ "

"How dare me, Potter? How dare _you_ attempt to assault your professor, the very professor who took you into his personal quarters in order to shelter you from the public eye. I am doing _everything_ for you, you arrogant fool. Show me some respect." Snape had drawn closer, until he was spitting his words directly into Harry's face. The man's wand was still held threateningly between them, and for the first time, Harry felt a thrill of fear as he met the angry gaze of the Potions Master. Snape could do much worse things than the Dursleys ever could, and he certainly hated him enough to carry them out without a hint of remorse.

Harry merely stared defiantly at Snape. He had given up on struggling against the spell and instead just crossed his arms across his chest. All the blood was rushing to his head and giving him a massive headache, but he went on glaring.

Snape scoffed. "Just as I thought – arrogant through and through. Oh, your father would be so proud of you."

Snape flicked his wand again, and Harry collapsed in a heap on the stone floor of the lab. His head had collided rather harshly with the ground, and he could feel a throbbing lump forming on his forehead just below his hairline, but he scrambled to his feet angrily anyway. Snape had already vanished his potion, but the scattered dragon scales and leftover dandelion roots still sat on the table with the dirty cauldron.

"A zero for your dreadful effort today, Potter." Snape smiled nastily at him. His eyes flicked up to Harry's forehead. "And shall we call social services? You appear to be _abused._ "

Harry ignored the wicked gleam in Snape's dark eyes and raised his hand to probe the wound on his forehead. His fingers came away crimson with fresh blood.

"You are to clean up your mess in here before dinner." He turned to leave, but paused halfway to the door. "Oh, and I do think you have earned yourself another detention."

The door slammed shut behind Snape, and Harry kicked the closest stool halfway across the room. He then carefully cleaned the blood away from the cut on his forehead with his shirtsleeve, painfully aware of the starkness of the red blood against the crisp white of his uniform shirt. He then pointed his wand at his forehead and whispered, " _Episkey._ " The wound knitted itself together, erasing all evidence of the gash that had been there mere moments before.

He quickly tidied Snape's lab, cleaning the cauldron quite quickly since the potion within had been vanished perfectly and had left no traces.

oOoOo

_I don't understand how Dumbledore could have put me here. I don't know how to do this. I hate Dumbledore; I hate Snape . . . I even think I hate myself._

_What would Snape do if he knew that all I want is to stop existing?_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Severus Snape was not the type of man to allow the misfortunes of other to keep him awake at night. His own past – failings and horrible acts and all – gave him enough nightmares as it was (not that he would ever admit that to another soul as long as he lived). But that night, Severus lay awake, haunted by thoughts of the boy currently sleeping in his guest room.

Severus had always known that Potter had been shipped off to live with Petunia and her great oaf of a husband after that fated Halloween night. Petunia had been nasty when they were younger, but people changed – after all, Severus had certainly changed. When Dumbledore sent Potter to Little Whinging, he had chalked it up as a sure sign that Petunia had finally gotten over her petty jealousy and moved on with her life.

But from the memories that Potter had carefully hidden in the back of his mind, Petunia had never moved on, and she had passed on her dislike for anything magical to her husband as well. Severus wanted to ignore the memories more than anything, but he couldn't. He could write off the images of Potter working in the yard as chores and the boy's sunburns as mere carelessness. He could pretend that being locked in the cupboard was just a rather harsh punishment, perhaps one that Potter deserved based on the brat that Severus had known for the past five years. He could even suppose that the last memory he had seen – of Potter's cousin and friends beating him after the fool gave them cheek – was the result of a picked fight with boys much bigger than Potter was. But he couldn't write off the images of Potter being thrown into the wall, pushed down the stairs, kicked in the ribs. And he couldn't get the scars on the boy's back out of his mind. So he tried to ignore them. It had been easy enough to dismiss the leap from the Astronomy Tower as a desperate move to seek attention, even with the way that the brat had covered up the incident, but memories were different. Scars were different.

Severus knew that he was being awful to the boy. Potter was probably abused, and he was mocking him about it. He couldn't help it. He held no love for the brat that was imposing on his privacy by living in his private quarters. The boy took everything from the people around him and never gave anything back.

Mainly, Severus saw himself in the boy. He saw a teenager who was forced to grow up much faster than he was supposed to. He saw a young man who was afraid to go home for the holidays, even though he was required to. He saw a scared little kid whose shoulders were weighed down by the burden of the entire world. And the defiance, the anger, the things that Severus had interpreted as evidence of Potter being treated like a prince, were really just the actions of a boy who thought that he had to do everything himself because he couldn't trust adults.

But the difference was that Potter lived in a world where everyone cared for him, where everyone wanted to make sure that he was okay, where everyone would be outraged if it suddenly emerged that he had been abused with his Muggle relatives. And Severus lived in a world where no one did.

oOoOo

Harry slipped out of his bed early that morning. He glanced down the hallway toward Snape's bedroom and saw that the door was firmly closed, which Harry took as a sign that the man was still asleep. It was still very early, and although there were no windows in the dungeons, Harry could feel the chill of the early winter morning in the stones that were icy cold against his bare feet.

He padded into the kitchen and began looking around, flicking on lights around the quarters with his wand, which Snape had forgotten to confiscate at the end of the day yesterday. He peeked into the fridge, which – unsurprisingly – held nothing but a small cube of butter, a jug of milk, and a collection of objects that Harry figured must be some potions ingredients that he had never heard of.

Harry let the door shut and tentatively called into the empty kitchen, "Dobby?"

The house elf appeared before him with a loud crack. He was wearing two different-colored socks that were much too big for his little feet.

"Harry Potter has called Dobby, sir?" Dobby squeaked, looking up at Harry with big green eyes.

"Dobby, I need you to be quiet because Snape is still asleep. But I need you to grab me enough food to make a full English breakfast for two, okay?"

"Harry Potter does not like the breakfast the elves make?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Dobby, I'm just trying to make a point to Snape. And remember, _don't_ wake him up, okay?"

Dobby nodded vigorously, his over-large ears flopping along with his head. "Dobby will get the ingredients for Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will not wake up Master Potions Master." He disappeared with a pop, leaving Harry alone in the cold kitchen once again.

Since his argument with Snape in the potions lab yesterday, Harry had been determined to prove Snape wrong. He didn't care what Snape thought of his cooking – he wouldn't even mind if he accidentally poisoned the man – but he had no right to say anything about what happened at the Dursleys'. And maybe cooking a proper breakfast would convince Snape that he had done some work at his relatives'.

Dobby appeared in the kitchen once again; his arms were laden with food. The little elf levitated bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, bread, sausages, beans, and hash browns onto the countertop.

"Thanks, Dobby!"

Harry assessed the food that Dobby had brought and then set to work, using an old skillet that he had found in one of the cupboards to fry the eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, and bacon. He had just begun to cook the beans and sausage when Snape suddenly entered the kitchen.

"Just what are you doing?" Snape drawled from behind him, making Harry jump.

Harry reached for the closest object to steady himself, which happened to be the sizzling skillet still on the stove. He yelped and swore loudly, cradling his burning hand against his side.

"Language, Potter," Snape ground out harshly, but he approached Harry nonetheless. When he had reached Harry's side, he held out one hand. "Let me see."

Harry ignored him in favor of turning the sausages and stirring the beans, both actions being performed with his good hand.

"I said," Snape snapped, "let me see your hand."

Harry had been in situations like this before. Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon would demand to see his injuries – many of which had been burns from cooking – and either hurt him worse or mock him for injuring himself. He had learned his lesson long before he was even old enough to attend Hogwarts.

"No, sir. It's nothing," Harry muttered under his breath, keeping his attention fixed on cooking the food on the stove.

Finally sick of his insolence, Snape grabbed Harry's injured hand himself. Harry could barely stand to look at the man, certain that he would just spit another insult into Harry's face. Instead, Harry felt the gentle brush of magic over his palm and fingers; it soothed the burning sensation immediately.

Harry finally looked away from the food, his gaze darting from his healed hand to the dark man standing in front of him. Skin that had been shiny, puckered, and pink mere moments ago was pale and smooth once again.

"You healed me." The words hung in the air between, the shock heavy in Harry's voice.

"Indeed," Snape confirmed in a bored tone, slipping his wand back into his sleeve and watching Harry as he returned to cooking. Without varying his tone, he continued, "You are making breakfast."

"Indeed," Harry mocked, but he instantly regretted it when Snape's face clouded over. The man moved away from Harry quickly, returning to where he had previously been leaning against the counter. Harry hastened to say, "It's almost ready, sir, if you want to sit at the table."

Snape hesitated, but he finally sat in his usual chair at the ebony table. "Where did you procure the food?"

"Dobby brought it to me from the kitchens," Harry replied, busying himself with making two plates of steaming food. He carefully balanced the two plates on one arm, using his other hand to carry a mug of coffee – for Snape – and a cup of pumpkin juice – for himself – to the table.

"Do you typically enjoy taking on the role of a house elf?" Snape asked as Harry set the plate and the mug in front of him. A faint sneer colored his tone; his contempt and mockery was evident.

Harry couldn't help but scowl in response. The glint in Snape's eyes was infuriating. He angrily took a bite of bacon, savoring the taste, as he glared at the man sitting across from him at the table. "I'm not about to be yours, if that's what you're asking," he snapped.

"Are you truly arrogant enough to think that I would want to keep you around my home?" He looked down at the untouched food before him with disdain, before taking a bite. Snape looked taken aback, and Harry had the urge to laugh for the first time in more than a week. He knew that the food was good, and he valued his ability to prove Snape wrong – even if the man would never admit it. The man's glare was vicious, and Harry's smirk disappeared instantly.

"Not arrogant at all," Harry replied honestly, with a slight edge to his voice, "just cautious enough to want to be aware of what people expect of me."

Snape stared at him for a moment. His fork, which had been laden with eggs and on his way to his mouth, returned to his plate. "What is it that you believe people expect of you, Potter?"

Harry's face clearly showed his incredulity. "Are you kidding me?" When Snape raised an eyebrow impatiently, Harry scoffed. "Well, let's start with the fact that the entire wizarding world expects me to defeat Lord fucking Voldemort."

Snape hissed at the name. "Language, Potter."

Harry continued on as though the man hadn't spoken. "Or we could go individually. Hermione and Ron expect me to be the one who teaches the school how to defend themselves even though I've only ever gotten lucky in every dangerous situation I've faced – Merlin, they think that just because I've escaped Voldemort's presence alive means that I'm a good enough wizard to beat him – _me,_ fifteen years old!" His laugh was bitter. "Or my relatives – that's easy; they expect me to be their perfect little house elf, but only when they want me to be. The other half of the time, I'm their punching bag or the freak that takes up space in their perfectly normal house. At least they can pretend I don't exist for most of the year."

Snape opened his mouth as soon as Harry paused in his rant. "Listen – "

"No, you listen to me!" Harry interrupted, his voice rising, now on his feet. He hit the table with his fist, causing a bit of pumpkin juice to splash over the rim of his glass and onto the black grain of the wood. "I'm sick of being everyone's little soldier. You expect me to be an arrogant bastard because you think my father was, but I'm not! I'm not him – I'm not. He died when I was a year old, and I don't have a single memory of him aside from his voice as he told my mum to run because Voldemort was in my fucking house! And Dumbledore – Merlin knows what he wants from me anymore, because he won't even look at me.

"I don't even know what I expect from myself anymore," Harry continued, and this time his voice was much more subdued. Snape had gone very still, his face curiously blank as he watched Harry carefully from across the table. "I never thought – when I was eleven and Hagrid told me – I never could have realized…" He met Snape's gaze fully, openly, perhaps for the first time in the five years that he had known the man. The Potions Master's black eyes held a hint of rare curiosity, encouraging him to continue. "How could I have known that this entire time, they expected me to die for them?"

"No one expects you to die for this war. What do you think you can do to help? You already said it – you are fifteen," Snape replied, almost angrily. "Dozens of witches and wizards die daily, and I can guarantee that none of them are dying for you, Potter. How dare you think yourself important enough – "

"Well, it's certainly the idea that was planted in my head through all of this," Harry countered. "Why do you think I took matters into my hands?"

Snape's eyes met his sharply.

"No, I didn't plan that night." He knew that was the conclusion Snape had jumped to at his words. "It all happened so fast. You saw… well, everything, really, and all I could think was that the whole school would know by the next morning. And I wasn't thinking clearly – not at all – and I just ran to the only place I could think of. And then by the time I had actually worked up the nerve to jump, you showed up, and I just – now I can't get it out of my head. How easy it would be to just do it myself."

Harry looked down at his plate and froze, shocked at how much he had opened up to the man who made his life a living hell, the man who he hated nearly as much as Voldemort himself. Maybe even as much as Umbridge. He peeked up at the older wizard's face, which was openly shocked and yet guarded all at once, before bolting into his bedroom.

oOoOo

Severus sat frozen at the table, staring over the still-full plates of food to the seat where Potter had been sitting mere moments ago. He had been trying so very hard over the past few days to forget that there was more to Potter than met the eye. He wanted to forget the memories that seemed to be seared into his brain. He wanted to pretend that none of this had ever happened – that Potter wasn't abused, that he wasn't opening up to _Severus_ of all people, that he had never seen the memories of the brat's relatives, that he had never had to teach the boy Occlumency in the first place.

But much like that morning's breakfast, Severus Snape's life seemed to be taking a very strange turn.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Harry stared intently at the teacup lying innocently on Snape's coffee table. The man had come and dragged Harry out of his bedroom and into the sitting room for lessons promptly at ten, regardless of Harry's protests that he certainly wasn't feeling like focusing on lessons.

He clenched his wand tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't transfigure the teacup back into a mouse.

"Are you going to actually do something?" Snape sneered from his seat in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. "Or are you just going to glare the cup into submission?"

"You're one to talk about glaring," Harry shot back, not even looking at the man. His shoulders felt marginally lighter after his outburst at breakfast that morning; he felt like he had finally been able to part with a tiny bit of the despair and heaviness that felt like it was constantly settling in his chest and making it hard to breathe. But his mind wouldn't stop reminding him that he had opened up to _Snape,_ of all people. The last time he had let the man know something personal, Harry had jumped off the Astronomy Tower. Now he was volunteering information?

Harry felt like he was going to be sick. He couldn't even work up the nerve to look at Snape, although he could almost sense the scowl that had begun to twist the man's face at his words.

He waved his wand once again, trying to distract himself from Snape's presence, but the teacup did nothing. It didn't even quiver.

The familiar rage and frustration welled up inside him, and he hit the teacup with a blasting curse so strong that it scorched the wood of the table. The cup exploded instantly, littering Snape, Harry, and everything around them with tiny shards of porcelain.

"A fine example of how _not_ to control your emotions," Snape drawled. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the teacup repaired itself and returned to its now-unblackened spot on the table. "Focus, Potter."

" _I can't,_ " Harry protested, and even he was aware of the whiny note in his voice. He didn't dare let his eyes wander up from the teacup to the man sitting across from him. "I can't focus on anything right now."

Snape groaned deeply, one hand leaving the armchair to pinch the bridge of his nose – or so Harry assumed. "For the love of – How do you expect to accomplish anything if you aren't willing to put in the effort?"

"I'm trying, but I can't do it. Maybe if you would actually show me how to do it, and would stop just sitting there staring at me like I'm some pickled thing floating in one of the jars in your office – but no. You saw the real Harry Potter – not so _Golden,_ am I? I say one personal thing – and I didn't even mean to, mind you – and now you won't leave me alone because you know the truth." Harry put his wand on the table and crossed his arms. He leaned back into the cushions of the leather sofa, still avoiding Snape's eyes.

For a moment the room was silent but for the steady crackling of the fire burning in the hearth. Then Snape bit out in a tight voice, "I think we've both heard more than enough personal confessions from you today. Just" – the teacup and Harry's wand disappeared from the coffee table, Harry's notebook appearing in their place – "write."

Snape disappeared down the hall and into his lab, and Harry picked up the thick leather notebook lying on the coffee table. He flipped through the first few crisp pages, his messy scrawl inking only a few lines in the pristine notebook.

A plain grey quill was also lying on the table, alone now that Harry had grabbed the notebook. Harry let it remain where it was, because it wouldn't do him much good at the moment. He didn't know how to put his feelings into words. He didn't know how to write down how awful he felt or how he wanted it all to be over or how he felt like Atlas, with the whole world weighing down on his shoulders and no way to get out from under it.

But finally he picked up the quill and wrote exactly that.

oOoOo

Severus finally ventured back into the sitting room from his lab. He had finished up a batch of Pepper-Up and Pain Draughts for Poppy and figured that he had given Potter more than enough time to get over his bout of emotion and back into a mindset fit for learning. Rather, when he entered the sitting room, he found Potter curled up in a tight ball, the quill slightly bent between his thin fingers, the notebook lying open on the table. Soft breaths from the boy made the pages flutter slightly.

The flutter of the pages caught Severus' attention, drew his eyes to the words scribbled across them, crammed together as if Potter didn't have enough room to finish his thoughts or perhaps enough time to even turn the page before his stream of consciousness drifted away.

He debated for a mere moment, his lips already prepared to bark an order that would startle Potter from sleep with all the gentleness of a bull in a china shop. But rather, although he knew that he really shouldn't, he inched around the couch and quietly picked up the notebook. It truly was an expensive item, with a smooth leather cover and fine binding and crisp pages that didn't wrinkle under fingertips, but Severus was much more interested in the words that Potter had scrawled across the pages.

His eyes darted to affirm that Potter was truly asleep before he flipped to the first two pages, where only a couple of measly, insolent sentences were hurriedly written. The next page did not disappoint. It was filled from margin to margin with Potter's thoughts and emotions, the words much deeper and more honest than he ever could have expected from the student who had never given more than half of a thought toward his Potions homework.

Severus did not worry about his students – except perhaps Draco Malfoy and a few select Slytherins – and he most certainly _never_ worried about Harry Potter, connoisseur of all that annoyed Severus Snape, brat extraordinaire, Boy-Who-Lived-to-Make-Severus'-Life-a-Living-Hell. But the words that filled the pages of Potter's notebook struck a sharp note of worry in Severus' chest, a sour taste filling his mouth.

Severus didn't know what he had expected to read when he picked up the notebook. Perhaps he had assumed that he would find page after page of abusive comments toward his Potions professor. Perhaps he had hoped to find proof that Potter's leap from the Astronomy Tower was indeed a desperate plea for attention borne from some sick need to have all eyes on him. Perhaps he just never thought that he could be the one discovering that Potter had reached his breaking point, that he had finally taken all that he could take and was just looking for a way out. Perhaps he just never wanted to be the one who would find the evidence of all of Potter's innermost feelings, full of despair and self-hatred and emotions that no fifteen-year-old boy should ever have to feel.

No, Severus Snape didn't want to read about the way that Potter felt like the world was crushing him with its weight. He didn't want to know about the boy's intense desire to merely disappear from the entire world – to not just escape from everything but to cease to exist entirely. He had _never_ wanted to read the description of how the world had failed him, from Dumbledore to the Dursleys to every single teacher he had ever had at Hogwarts who failed to see the pain behind his eyes and his behavior for what it was – the instinctive self-reliance of a victim of abuse. He cringed as he learned of the nightmares that Potter consistently had, nightmares that somehow switched between that dreadful evening in the graveyard with the Dark Lord and the worst of his punishments from his relatives.

Feeling decidedly sick, Severus snapped the book shut and set it back on the table. He didn't want to know any more. All of the suspicions that had arisen since Potter had come to live in his quarters seemed to be bursting forth from the tiny corner of his mind where he had hidden them.

Severus levitated the boy off the couch and into his bedroom, placing him carefully under the heavy duvet. He placed the closed notebook and quill on the bedside table before he slipped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Although he knew that it was very likely that the Headmaster was currently in the dungeons covering one of the many classes that Severus was missing as a result of looking after Potter, Severus grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the low fire. He stepped through the green fire and straight into the Headmaster's office, which was – as he predicted – dark and empty.

He siphoned away the tiny traces of soot that had ground themselves into the elaborate red carpet upon his arrival; nodded curtly to Fawkes, who trilled softly in return; and strengthened the fire in the grate. Finally, he returned his ebony wand to the holster that was carefully hidden in his sleeve and seated himself in one of the plush chairs opposite Dumbledore's desk, determined to wait for the man's eventual return.

oOoOo

Harry was staring holes into the cover of the notebook. The _closed_ cover of the notebook that he was painfully aware of leaving wide open on the coffee table before he fell asleep on the sofa.

Harry leapt out of bed in search of the Potions Master, but he found the quarters empty, barely warmed by the dying fire in the grate. Snape's bedroom and lab were cold and dark, and Harry was left to conclude the worst. Snape had read the things he had written in his notebook and now he had either had enough of Harry altogether and had left, or he had gone to Dumbledore to have a conversation about what to do with a depressed, suicidal brat. And seeing as Harry was sitting in _Snape's_ quarters, the latter was the better option.

Harry didn't know where Snape had run off to, but he certainly wasn't going to waste his chance to get out of this dreaded place. He tried the kitchen first, pulling open empty drawers. Apparently the man didn't own cutlery, although Harry figured that wasn't much of a surprise since he ate the majority of his meals in the Great Hall with the rest of the staff and the student body. And even if Snape did store the occasional fork and knife in his kitchen, he probably would have removed them at Dumbledore's request; Dumbledore was worried about Harry's mental health, even if Snape didn't care in the slightest.

It didn't take long for Harry to realize that Snape's private potions lab would be sufficiently stocked. And amongst the cauldrons and glass stirring rods and slimy ingredients, there was sure to be at least one sharpened silver knife. So he tentatively pushed open the door to the Potions Master's private lab and nicked the first knife that he saw, sitting innocently on a cutting board on one side of the long brewing table.

When Harry returned to his bedroom, he faltered. The silver knife weighed heavy in his pocket, pulling down his robes on one side. That uneven weight seemed to settle in his chest, combining with the tight ball of anxiety that permanently resided there and making it difficult to breathe. Harry's gaze flickered from the black belt lying on the stone floor where he had left it to the hanging rack in his wardrobe, trying to calculate the distance between the thick wooden bar and the floor. But no, it didn't matter. Snape could return at any moment, and the last thing he wanted was the professor thwarting his attempts once again. He had to leave.

Harry grabbed his cloak from where it hung in the wardrobe. The chill of winter was still hanging over the castle, and Harry could feel it in the icy stones of dungeon. He threw his cloak over his thin body and hurried to the door, fully expecting there to be wards keeping him in.

The door opened easily, and Harry stepped out into the hall. A sharp stinging hex hit him in the lower back, making him hiss, but it wasn't enough for him to return to Snape's chambers and simply wait for the man's return. He was going to do this, perpetual stinging hex or not.

Harry's invisibility cloak was balled up in the pocket of his cloak, so he pulled it out and threw it over his head. Once he was completely hidden from view, he set off down the corridor and out of the dungeons.

On his way to the main entrance of the castle, he came across no students, and it wasn't until Harry passed the Great Hall that he realized why. Dinner was being served, and laughter and the clinking of silverware on gilded plates filtered through the doors and into the entrance hall. Harry figured that Snape would either be eating in the Great Hall with the rest of the teachers or he would still be in Dumbledore's office, so he slipped out the heavy wooden doors that led out onto the grounds.

As Harry set off down the path that led past Hagrid's hut and into the Forbidden Forest, he removed his invisibility cloak and took in the view one last time. The sun was just setting behind the lake, casting streaks of gold across the water and silhouetting the massive castle against the darkening sky. Hogwarts was stunning, regardless of the time of day, and Harry was genuinely sad to leave it. But the castle wasn't home anymore. He had no contact with his friends, the reality of his life back at Privet Drive had been revealed, and now he was forced to cohabit with his most hated professor.

Harry fought off the involuntary shudder as he took his first steps into the Forbidden Forest. The foliage around him immediately blocked the dim light that had illuminated the grounds, and with a whispered _'lumos'_ Harry set off to find a suitable place.

oOoOo

Severus paused his dinner, forkful of roast beef halfway to his mouth, when he felt the breach of his wards. Returning his fork to his plate, he glanced down the table at the Headmaster, who returned his gaze with slightly raised eyebrows. Severus quickly nodded toward the door before making his way towards it, knowing that Albus was following.

They had finally made the decision to confine Potter to the Hospital Wing to be under the constant care of Poppy not an hour before dinner, but this didn't bode well. Severus' wards were airtight against any intruders, but the worst they would do to a stranger on their way out would be to deliver a sharp stinging hex to send them on their way. The breach of the wards surely meant that Potter had left, and if he was planning to do anything close to what Severus presumed, a little stinging hex would do nothing to convince him to stay within the quarters.

Severus felt an uncharacteristic burst of panic bloom in his chest at the thought of where the boy had wandered off to and exactly what he was planning to do. He could be anywhere in the castle, from the deepest parts of the dungeons that only the bravest would enter to the ledge of the Astronomy Tower. He could have left the castle completely.

"Potter left my quarters. Based on our conversation in your office earlier, one can only presume that he does not intend to visit Hagrid for a cup of tea and a selection of the finest rock cakes," Severus informed as soon as Albus joined him in the entrance hall. "He could be anywhere."

Albus looked toward the castle doors, which Severus now noted were slightly ajar, letting in the chill.

"Perhaps not anywhere. I will alert the other heads of house to search the grounds with us."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last prewritten chapter of Stars that I've been transferring over from FF.net. From here it will definitely slow down, especially with how hectic my life has been recently

Chapter 10

Severus Snape was feeling rather disconcerted as he trekked across the grounds, mainly because he was not used to feeling anything but impassivity for Harry Potter. But impassivity had been flung far from him, replaced by something akin to panic as he followed the thin, winding trail down to the Forbidden Forest. Pomona, Filius, Minerva, and Albus himself were combing every part of the school, from the deepest dungeon to the tallest tower to the far side of the lake. But Severus knew that Potter had gone to the one place where he thought that he had the least chance of being found – and that was the Forbidden Forest.

Severus traversed the forest often for potions ingredients that could only be found in small clearings after dark, so he was well accustomed to the way that the dense trees could leech the light out of everything, but today it seemed particularly bleak. He paused a short distance into the forest, each tree trunk barely distinguishable from the one beside it.

He pulled his ebony wand from his sleeve. " _Point me Harry Potter,_ " he murmured into the darkness. His wand spun once, twice in his open palm, and the tip pointed somewhere off into the darkness ahead and to his right. He lit his wand and headed off in that direction.

Part of him wanted to be the one to find Potter, which also went against his strict code of impassivity. Potter may have been suicidal before, but Severus had been the one to push the boy over the edge – not only once, but twice. And besides the fact that he felt partly responsible, he wanted to spare his coworkers – specifically Minerva and Pomona – the sight that he was afraid was going to meet his eyes when he finally found the boy.

As he walked, ducking out of the way of low branches and sidestepping shrubbery, he tried to reason through what to do with Potter. Surely the boy would no longer be living in the dungeons with him, and even keeping him in the hospital wing under Poppy's watchful eye seemed risky. Severus would have to see if Albus could find a way to get the boy into St. Mungo's without the entirety of the wizarding world finding out about it. It would be difficult, but a few oaths of secrecy would go a long way in keeping the word from getting out.

Severus' musings were interrupted by the sound of approaching galloping. A centaur with hair so blond that it was nearly white skidded to a stop in front of Severus.

"Firenze," Severus greeted, his voice trailing off and his face paling as he noticed the figure draped over the centaur's back, the crimson blood streaking the ochre hair beneath Potter. "Oh, Merlin."

Severus quickly sent off a Patronus, his ethereal doe leaping off between the trees in search of Albus and Poppy. He gently tugged Potter off Firenze's back, all too aware of the way his head lolled lifelessly to the side and the glassy look in those green eyes – _Lily's eyes._

Albus and Poppy appeared behind him in a flash of fire, making Severus jump. Fawkes trilled once before disappearing in another bright flash.

Albus caught Severus' eye as Poppy rushed toward Potter's motionless body. "The quickest way to work around the anti-apparition wards," he said with a shrug, focusing his attention on Potter.

Severus turned back to Firenze as Poppy began wordlessly knitting together the deep gashes on the boy's wrist. "You have our sincerest thanks," Severus nodded. "I know that they are likely to exile you for this."

Firenze bowed his head and one tawny hoof kicked at a bit of dirt. "Their hatred of humanity will get them nowhere. Centaurs protect the innocent, and this innocent boy does not deserve to die. If they cannot see that, they hurt none but themselves."

The Potions Master and the centaur watched Poppy work in silence.

"I have rescued him once before," Firenze spoke up. "The stars look upon him in much of the way that they look upon you, Master Snape."

Severus looked up sharply. "And what way is that?"

"Pity. He is a boy destined for pain. As for you, one can only hope that the worst of your pain is behind you." The centaur's voice was soft.

Severus stared down at Potter's pale face. The boy's glasses had been lost somewhere in the forest, and even with bruised-looking eyelids hiding emerald green eyes, Severus could see Lily in him. That nose, when not accentuated by the boy's glasses, had the exact same upward curve that Lily's had had. It was small, but the resemblance was there; it nearly knocked Severus' feet out from under him.

He heard Firenze slip off into the forest, but all Severus could think about was the way that he had failed Lily's son. He had done nothing but ridicule the boy. He had hated him and tormented him, and although he had done his best to protect the boy from danger, he had failed to protect Potter from the biggest danger – the boy himself.

Albus approached him as Poppy levitated the boy on a small, conjured stretcher, and when the elderly Headmaster touched Severus' shoulder, Severus collapsed. There was no strength left in his legs or his head or even in his soul. He had made one promise to Lily, and he had broken it through his own stupidity and inability to see past Potter's father.

Albus knelt in the muddy earth behind him and simply left one steadying hand on Severus' shoulder as his mind reeled.

oOoOo

When Harry opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Madam Pomfrey's pale, drawn countenance. Or rather, a blurred image that looked rather like Madam Pomfrey. He raised his arm to reach for his glasses, but stopped when he noticed the heavy cotton bandages that were magicked onto his wrist. His other arm had a matching bandage.

"Wh –," he choked around a tongue that felt like a fuzzy cotton ball in his mouth. His head pounded in time with his heartbeat and he quickly shut his eyes to block out the light.

Harry felt the glass lip of a potion vial pressed to his lips and he swallowed a viscous liquid that tasted like the smell of wet dog. His headache faded quickly, along with the pain in his wrists that was beginning to assert itself. Another vial prompted him to swallow another potion, this time one that he recognized as Pepper-Up. The heaviness lifted from his limbs.

"One more, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey murmured as she uncorked the last vial and handed it to him. "You'll be taking a blood replenisher for the next few days after the stunt that you decided to pull."

Harry looked down at his hands and the bandages around his arms. A few spotty bloodstains were bleeding through the thick cotton.

Madam Pomfrey handed him his glasses, and he slipped them on, grateful for the clarity that the lenses brought to his vision.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Potter," came a smooth voice from Harry's right. He nearly groaned as he found Snape sitting in a hard-backed chair beside Harry's bed.

Harry turned away from the man, his lips tightening in disgust. Snape was the last person he wanted to see, now or ever. And the last thing he needed right now was another lecture about arrogance and jabs about his life with the Dursleys.

After a long moment of silence, Snape cleared his throat. "I believe my actions towards you over the past few days have been . . . misguided. And I believe that it may be that I owe you an – apology." He spit the last word from his mouth as though it physically pained him to say it.

Harry scoffed. "Misguided."

"Indeed," Snape confirmed. "I may have been too _reluctant_ " – another word spat through clenched teeth – "to see past your unfortunate . . . parentage." There was a long pause. "Your father was spoiled rotten and treated like a king at home, but as it is rapidly becoming apparent to me, you were not. And it has been difficult for me to . . . reconcile that with the version of you that I wanted to believe existed."

"You hated me. Hatred doesn't change." Harry had returned his gaze to the blood-spotted bandages covering his wrists.

"Ah, hatred is a strong word," Snape corrected. "I would not say that I hated you, but rather that I did not care for you either way. And when that impassivity is founded in . . . ignorance" – the man appeared to cringe slightly at his own hesitant word choice – "then things can change when facts are brought to light."

"Might as well tell the Daily Prophet that they were right. I'm sure Dumbledore will be shipping me off to St. Mungo's after this, and won't _that_ make the headlines," Harry muttered.

"As far as I know, _Professor_ Dumbledore has no current plans for you to recover at St. Mungo's. That being said, we have also convinced him how foolish he was – ignorant, really – to place us together in the same living quarters."

Harry rolled his eyes, finally meeting the gaze of the Potions Master. Snape looked distinctly uncomfortable, his shoulders stiffly raised in what seemed like half of a defensive shrug.

"So what now? I'm assuming that no one is going to just let me run off to my normal life after tonight." Harry glanced out the window at the night sky before looking back at Snape.

"Last night," Snape smoothly corrected. "Madam Pomfrey kept you asleep for the last day to allow your body some extra time to recover. You lost a lot of blood.

"As for now, you are on a suicide watch of sorts. While you will not be staying at St. Mungo's, you will be staying here in the hospital wing in a private room that the Headmaster has added off to the side." Snape gestured toward a door that Harry couldn't remember seeing during any of his other visits to the hospital wing. "The room is fitted with wards that will prevent you from hurting yourself in any way and will alert Madam Pomfrey or myself when you are feeling particularly distressed."

" _You?_ " Harry choked out, feeling that he really should be used to the horror that Snape was going to be privy to his private emotions.

"Since the Headmaster has already been taking over my classes for the past several days, apparently I remain the best option for your faculty babysitter." He sneered slightly. "I will be tutoring you in your coursework in the mornings, much as we were doing before. In the afternoons, a mind healer from St. Mungo's will meet with you to talk about your _feelings._ Rest assured that Professor Dumbledore has ensured that she has been sworn to secrecy in every way. And in the evenings, we will be resuming your Occlumency lessons."

"No!" Harry shot back indignantly. He wouldn't consent to opening his mind to _anyone,_ especially not Snape, after what had happened the last time he had let the man in.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter. The Headmaster and I both agree that it is of the utmost importance for you to learn to close your mind to the Dark Lord," Snape drawled.

"You can't make me." Harry's voice was taking on the whiny, petulant tone of a young child. "I'm not good at it, and even if I was, there's no way I'm just going to let you in my mind after last time."

"Actually I _can_ make you, and seeing as these lessons are being resumed at the request of the Headmaster, I have no qualms about forcing you to learn if it comes to that. Regardless, seeing as you clearly require a gentler teaching method, we will be taking a different approach to the mind magics." Snape produced a large book from within his robes and dropped it on the edge of Harry's bed. "Read the first four chapters of this by next week, and be sure to visualize your shields and practice storing memories behind them at least twice a day. Suicide watch or no suicide watch, do not let me catch you slacking, Mr. Potter."

Snape began to sweep towards the doors of the hospital wing, but he suddenly paused and turned back toward Harry. "Sometimes it may not seem like it, but you would be missed, Potter. I don't mean the people who only want to use you to win the war, either. But your friends" – Snape hesitated slightly as if regretting saying anything at all – "I know it is hard to see at times, but there are people who want you here."

As Snape left without a backward glance, Madam Pomfrey swiftly appeared in his place. "Okay, Mr. Potter, now that you are awake we are going to move you to your new living situation." She waved her wand at the wooden chair that Snape had been occupying; it sprouted wheels and handles like some strange type of Muggle wheelchair.

Madam Pomfrey moved to help Harry out of bed, which he was grateful for. As soon as his feet hit the stone floor and he left the bed, his entire body swayed. The mediwitch caught his arms and gently guided him to the makeshift wheelchair. She then wheeled him past each of the beds and into the private room at the far end of the hospital wing.

Once Harry was settled back into bed, Madam Pomfrey bustled away to order him some dinner. Alone for once, he took the chance to look around. The room was much nicer than he had expected it to be, with cream walls unlike the stone of the hospital wing. His bed – significantly softer than the usual cots – was pushed up against one wall; on the other side of the room there was a long tan sofa against one wall and a small pine table against the other. Two matching pine chairs accompanied the table.

Madam Pomfrey returned with a tray of steaming chicken broth and a thick slice of bread, which would have sounded good if Harry's stomach weren't churning at the mere thought of food. The tray levitated across the room to settle onto the bedside table, also made of pine wood.

"You may not feel like eating at the moment, but you need to get some food into your system, Mr. Potter." She pulled an anti-nausea potion from her apron and set it on the tray beside the bowl of soup. "If you need it."

Just as Madam Pomfrey was preparing to leave Harry to his own devices, Ron's fiery hair poked around the door, followed by Hermione's worried face. The mediwitch sighed in exasperation.

"They've been waiting all night and day to see you," she sighed, before directing her attention to the two Gryffindors. "Ten minutes, you two. Mr. Potter needs his rest."

As Madam Pomfrey left the room, Ron and Hermione grabbed the two chairs from the pine table and took a seat at Harry's bedside.

Hermione threw her arms around Harry, leaning over the edge of the bed and nearly suffocating Harry with her wild hair. "Oh Harry, we were so worried about you! Snape and Dumbledore left the Great Hall during dinner last night, and then suddenly all of the other Heads of House left with them and all of the students were sent to their dormitories. And then even once Professor Dumbledore had told us what had happened, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let us see you. We thought – we thought – " Hermione's voice trailed off into a quiet sob.

Ron's face was pale as his watery blue gaze met Harry's. "How did they find you, mate?"

Harry wracked his brain. The last thing he remembered was bracing himself against a tree stump in a small clearing in the forest and – suddenly a hazy image of a centaur, nearly glowing in the silvery moonlight, came to his mind.

"I think Firenze found me out in the forest. He must have been the one who brought me back. It's all kind of hazy – I was – "

"It's okay, Harry. You don't have to try to explain," Hermione soothed. "We're just glad you're okay."

Harry picked at the heavy wool blanket draped over him as traitorous tears began gathering in his eyes. He hadn't even stopped to think about Ron and Hermione; he had been too selfish to consider how destroyed they would have been if he had succeeded.

He could see Dumbledore calling them into his office the next morning, before he announced anything to the student body as a whole. He could almost see the look on Dumbledore's face – the twinkle in his eyes gone, perhaps permanently – as he told them that their best friend had not only died, but had decided to take his own life in the Forbidden Forest while everyone was eating dinner the night before.

Hermione's small hand covered Harry's; Ron hovered anxiously behind her. "You can always come to us, you know. We might never understand what you're going through, but we'll still be there for you."

The bandages were nothing but reminders of the many ways that he had failed those who mattered most to him and the ones who depended on him. Harry clenched his fists, causing shocks of pain to shoot up him wrists despite the pain potion.

Madam Pomfrey bustled suddenly into the room, no doubt alerted by Harry's distress, her face set into a mask of sternness. "Out! Out! Mr. Potter needs his rest. You may return tomorrow when he's feeling better."

Ron and Hermione were ushered unceremoniously out of the room despite Ron's ready protests. The last thing Harry saw was Hermione's concerned face as she looked back toward him under Madam Pomfrey's arm.

Once his friends had left the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey returned. She pointed her wand toward the tray of food, tendrils of steam still curling off the broth, and it levitated onto Harry's lap.

"Eat, Mr. Potter. The best medicines for you now are food and rest."

Harry swallowed the anti-nausea potion, which ironically tasted faintly reminiscent of vomit, and reached for the spoon. He worked around the heavy bandages on his wrist as he fitted the spoon into his hand and ate his first shaky spoonful of broth. It warmed a bit of the coldness in his bones as it went down, but Harry still couldn't fit it in himself to enjoy the warm meal. Perhaps he just couldn't find it within himself to enjoy anything anymore.

He pulled the thick book that Snape had left for him onto his lap, shifting the tray to make room for it, and opened to the first chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter was supposed to be a Christmas gift, and then New Year's gift, but I guess it ended up being a gift for Severus Snape's birthday? Oh well, enjoy.

Chapter 11

Harry opened one bleary eye at the sound of a throat clearing. The Headmaster stood in the doorway; two breakfast trays hovered ahead of him, one of which floated over to his bedside table. As Dumbledore followed the second tray to the chair beside his bed, Harry slid his glasses onto his nose.

With his vision now clear, Harry could see that Dumbledore's eyes held a diminished twinkle, his face wan and the corners of his lips downturned. His voice seemed sad as he greeted Harry with a quiet, "Good morning, Harry. If you would be so good as to breakfast with me?"

Harry gently closed the book about Occlumency that he had fallen asleep reading and reached for his own tray. The movement tugged at the wounds on his wrist and made him hiss in pain.

Dumbledore waved a wrinkled hand toward the two potions vials in the corner of Harry's tray. "I recommend the pain potion before the blood replenisher," the Headmaster advised, noting Harry's reaction. "Professor Snape has graciously restocked all of Madam Pomfrey's stores this morning so they're both fresh."

Harry felt his face settle into a scowl at the mention of the Potion Master's name, although something in his stomach seemed slightly offset at the memory of the man's apology – or as close as Harry would ever get to one – the night before. Nevertheless, he gulped down both potions before staring down at the tray. It was piled high with warm food, most likely a sampling of all that the elves had made for breakfast that morning; he tasted bile at the smell of the eggs and bacon. Settling for something safe, he reached for the toast and nibbled on a corner.

"I apologize that I did not come down to see you last night. I understand that Professor Snape took a bit of time to explain our current course of action, so I will spare you the mundane details." The Headmaster paused to take a few bites of scrambled eggs before continuing. "Professor Snape will be along in a bit to begin your lessons for the day, although I expect that he will focus primarily on magical theory until your wounds have healed. This afternoon, I will introduce you to your mind healer for your first session."

Harry finished his slice of toast and pushed his tray away, no longer hungry. Dumbledore finished his own meal quickly, vanishing both trays with a snap of his thin fingers.

"Well, my dear boy, I'd best be going," the old man announced, standing up. "I'll be back after lunch, but Professor Snape will be along quite soon."

As Dumbledore swept out of the room, Madam Pomfrey stepped in, followed by a black-clad Snape. Madam Pomfrey bustled about his bed, casting diagnostic charms and starting to change the bandages on his wrists, which were spotted with red. Snape leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms across his chest.

Harry glanced at him before looking down at his now-unbandaged forearms. Deep red gouges and shredded skin made him avert his eyes in shame. "Why are they still bleeding?"

Madam Pomfrey siphoned away the blood that had begun to bubble up in the wounds and conjured two rolls of gauze. "Attempted suicide is particularly difficult to treat, Mr. Potter. Your magic is . . . at war with itself, so to speak. It instinctively works to keep you alive when seriously injured, but it is also attuned to your will and your purpose-driven actions. When your magic is fighting to keep you alive but you no longer have the will to live and act accordingly, it is particularly taxing on your magical core, making it especially difficult to heal from self-inflicted injuries. Even if you weren't on a suicide watch of sorts, you would likely be in the Hospital Wing for a while." She finished the bandages with a flick of her wand, leaving Harry's wrists gauzy white once more. Putting one soft hand on his shoulder, she continued, "I know it's not easy, but the best way for you to heal is for you to want to stay here with us, Mr. Potter. Your magic needs to be able to help itself."

Harry stared at his newly bandaged hands as Madam Pomfrey left the room, leaving him alone with Snape. As the Potions Master moved from the door and took a seat in the chair next to his bed, Harry discreetly examined the man. Snape looked a bit worse for wear. His hair seemed greasier than normal, hanging in a lank curtain around his sallow face, and his eyes were ringed by dark circles. It looked like the man hadn't slept since – well, honestly, perhaps since Harry had escaped his quarters and slashed his wrists out in the woods.

"Why are you here?" Harry demanding, keeping his eyes fixed somewhere to the right of Snape's face. "You don't want to be here. I don't want you here. So why are you here?"

Snape scowled. "The Headmaster – "

"I don't care what Dumbledore said. I don't care what _anyone_ said. You started all of this. If you hadn't – "

"I have an _obligation,_ Potter. This goes beyond you and your wretched home life," Snape snapped, his tone icy and unyielding. "Do not feign understanding of my life or anyone else's."

Harry looked toward the door, which had been closed behind Madam Pomfrey. The first twinges of panic tugged at his chest; he felt trapped in this room with the man he hated most. "I don't want to speak to you."

Snape made a noise like he was going to argue, but Harry refused to turn around and look at the man's face. A book was dropped on the bed, and Harry pulled it onto his lap. Charms.

"Theory, then, if you are unwilling to listen. Read Chapter 13 about silencing charms."

Harry quietly sketched out a diagram of the wand movement, unable to truly practice the spell since Snape was still in possession of his wand. He scribbled out a few notes under the diagram, noting the importance of willpower in the spell. Willpower certainly wouldn't be an issue if he ever found himself with the opportunity to silence Snape. Or the Dursleys, he supposed. The two deserved to be grouped together, based on their treatment of children.

Around noon, a small, wrinkled house elf named Lolly popped into the room, levitating two lunch trays as Dumbledore had earlier that morning. "Lolly is providing lunch for Master Potions Master and Master Harry Potter. Dobby speaks highly of Master Harry Potter, so Lolly is bringing him extra pumpkin juice."

Harry flashed Lolly a watery smile as he accepted the lunch tray. The sight of the turkey sandwich and chips with a splash of vinegar made Harry's stomach churn, but he took a small sip of the pumpkin juice to appease the house elf. Perhaps later he could convince Dobby to get him out of this mess.

"What is the most important component of silencing charms?" Snape quizzed as he dug into his chips. Harry wrinkled his nose at the acidic tang of malt vinegar. "Eat, Potter."

Harry spitefully bit into a chip of his own. "Willpower to overcome the sound you're trying to silence."

Snape inclined his head. "I expect a foot of parchment on the uses and limitation of silencing charms for tomorrow. We will work on Potions until the Headmaster arrives. If you are done throwing a tantrum?"

The Potions Master launched into his lecture about Veritaserum, and Harry flipped to the chapter in his Potions book. He took a few small bites of his sandwich to appease – well, Madam Pomfrey more than anyone else.

". . . It is rather easy to spike one's pumpkin juice – " Snape pointedly looked at Harry's drink " – due to the potion's odorless and colorless appearance, water-like consistency, and undetectable taste. As such, its use is highly regulated by the Ministry and – "

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Harry folded the parchment with his notes and stuck them into his Potions book as Dumbledore entered the room with a petite woman wearing the lime green robes of St. Mungo's.

"Good afternoon, Harry, Severus." Dumbledore nodded to each of them with a smile and a twinkle. He gestured to the woman beside him. "This is Ashlynn Collins, Harry. She'll be your mind healer while you're recovering. As I'm sure Professor Snape has informed you, she has been sworn to secrecy on your case."

The mind healer pulled up another chair and took a seat. Healer Collins was a small, mousy woman with shoulder-length, curly brown hair and a kind smile. Harry had the feeling that he would like her if she weren't here to make him explain his feelings and his actions in the woods.

"Well, I'll take my leave," Dumbledore announced, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his violet robes and sweeping from the room. He closed the door behind him, leaving Harry, Ashlynn, and Snape alone in the room.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry. May I call you Harry?" Ashlynn began, smiling kindly at Harry.

"Are you saying that because I'm Harry Potter?" he snapped, although he didn't mean for his voice to take on the harsh edge that it did.

"I say that because you're another sad young man who I'd like to talk to, not because you're any sort of celebrity. I understand this was your second attempt in less than a fortnight?" she inquired, nodding toward Harry's bandaged wrists.

Harry nodded stiffly.

"I know you're all but locked in this room, but do you still have thoughts of hurting yourself? Has this been an ongoing thought?"

Harry shot a sideways glance at Snape, who was sitting stiffly in his wooden chair, looking as if he were trying to appear decidedly disinterested. "I won't talk if he's here."

"Headmaster Dumbledore has requested that Professor Snape sit in on all your sessions, so he'll have to stay," Ashlynn said, not unkindly. "Would it be easier to pretend that he's not here?"

"Then I won't talk," Harry ground out, crossing his arms across his chest and hissing at the sharp twinge in his wrists. Ashlynn exchanged a look with Snape, who dug a pain potion out of his robes and handed it to Harry.

"Please take the pain potion, Harry. You don't have to speak; we can sit here for the rest of the session if you don't feel comfortable talking yet."

"I don't," Harry replied tersely, gulping down the pain potion. His shoulders relaxed imperceptibly as the pain vanished from his forearms.

"We don't have to talk about the serious stuff, either. I hear you play Quidditch? What position do you play?"

"I'm a Seeker on the Gryffindor team," Harry whispered. "Or I was, at least. Umbridge banned me from Quidditch, so Ginny Weasley is Gryffindor's new Seeker. Even if I wasn't banned, I'm about to disappear for most of the term. They probably won't let me back on the team."

"I'm sorry to hear about the ban. I hear you joined the team your first year?" Harry had to give Ashlynn credit. She seemed genuinely interested in his answers, although she didn't seem like the type of girl who would be into Quidditch. She reminded him a bit of one of the Hufflepuff girls in his year – Hannah Abbott, maybe?

Harry smiled a little to himself at the memory of his first flying lesson and his fear that he would surely be expelled and returned to the Dursleys. "The youngest seeker in a century. There's something about sitting on a broom high above the pitch and watching the game below me. I feel free, I guess."

"Is it similar, perhaps, to feeling like a spectator in your own life? You have a role to play, of course, but so much of your life goes on without your influence."

Once again, Ashlynn's words were not unkind, but Harry snapped his mouth shut regardless. "I would appreciate it if you didn't make assumptions about my life. I like flying. That's all."

Ashlynn raised her hands in a show of innocence. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep the boundaries of our conversation today. Shall we talk about something else? Your favorite school subject?"

At this, Snape snorted quietly, causing Harry to look at him in surprise. He had never heard the man make any noise other than one of disdain.

"Certainly not Potions," Snape told Ashlynn, a note of amusement in his voice.

Harry gave his own halfhearted grin. "Not Potions. I like Defense Against the Dark Arts, when the professor is decent, at least."

"A fitting subject for the times," Ashlynn mused. "You don't like your current professor?"

Harry grimaced. "Umbridge is awful. She only teaches us magical theory and expects us to do well on our OWLs. My friend Hermione says she's mad, but she always was the one that focused most on schoolwork, anyway."

"Ah, that's right. Your OWLs are this year. What classes are you taking?" Ashlynn pulled a small black notebook out of the pocket of her robes and wrote a few lines. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just writing down a few things about you. . . . For my eyes only, of course."

Harry nodded warily, but listed off his classes. "I'm hoping to be an Auror one day, so I need NEWTs in Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Defense, and Potions." He glanced at Snape, daring the man to say something, but his Potions professor stayed silent.

"Excellent, excellent. I'm sure you'll make a brilliant Auror, Harry." Ashlynn took a few more notes and glanced at her watch. "Well, that's all the time we have for today. The Headmaster has asked me to come by Monday through Friday for now, so I'll be back tomorrow. It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Professor." She inclined her head to Snape and gave Harry a little smile on her way out.

When the mind healer had left and closed the door behind her, Snape spoke. "I know you don't want me here, Potter. I don't want to be here either. I would much rather hand you off to McGonagall or the Headmaster, but I cannot. I liked it better when I could keep my distance from you and despise your arrogance, but the Headmaster has forced us together. Potter, like it or not, I will be tutoring you and I _will_ be sitting in on your sessions with Healer Collins. As such, I propose an agreement. If you will treat me with the respect that I – as your professor and elder – deserve, I will attempt to be . . . civil." Looking pained, Snape extended one pale, long-fingered hand toward Harry.

Harry stared at the hand hanging between them. "Could you – I don't know – disillusion yourself during the sessions?"

"I will be present to hear the details of your discussion regardless."

"I _know,_ but – "

"And you understand that I have already seen much of what will be discussed when I was in your mind?"

"I _know,_ but when you sit there scowling and staring at me like I'm a bug – _less_ than a bug – I can't think of anything except – I don't know. The whole point of this is for me to figure out how to not want to die. It doesn't help when I can see you sitting there, hating me and wishing I was dead too – wishing I had succeeded – if not the first time, then the second time." Harry was nearly gasping for breath with the effort of putting his thoughts into words, and he locked watery eyes with Snape's black ones. Snape's face was surprised, his eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly open. Harry looked down at his hands.

Snape snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. His hand had returned to his side at some point during Harry's spiel. "Regardless of the history between us, I do not hate you, Potter, not anymore. And I most certainly do _not_ want you dead. Do you understand?"

Harry furiously dashed away a tear from his cheek, the teardrop absorbing into the gauze around his wrist. He nodded, wiping away another tear.

"Do we have a deal, Potter?" Snape extended his hand toward him once again.

Harry steeled his nerves and leveled his gaze with Snape's. "If you're going to be civil, you ought to remember that my name is Harry. Sir," he added belatedly.

Harry had braced himself for Snape's wrath, but the man merely nodded in response. "Very well. If you will treat me with respect, I will try my best to be civil _and_ I will attempt to use your given name. Do we have a deal, _Harry?_ "

His name sounded wrong on the Potions Master's lips, but perhaps it was due to the absence of disdain in the man's voice. "Yes, sir." Harry whispered, extending one hand to shake Snape's. "I accept your deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will the truce last?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late, late update on this one, guys.

The next couple days passed in an uneasy routine, and Harry found an unsettling truce forming between him and Snape. Harry would wake up and eat a quiet breakfast with the man; silence seemed like the best way to keep this strange peace from shattering between them. After breakfast, Snape would tutor Harry in two or three of his subjects, although the work mainly consisted of the theory behind spellwork and nightly essays – albeit short essays – about what Harry had studied that day. Snape had explained that it would be detrimental to his healing to cast spells, potentially reopening his wounds in addition to straining his already-overtaxed magical core. After a few hours of schoolwork, Harry would eat lunch and speak with Ashlynn. Later that night, if he was lucky, Ron and Hermione would stop by to visit him and fill him in on their lives.

This morning, however, Snape entered his room looking particularly grim. Although he normally arrived laden with food, Harry noted the absence of breakfast trays floating behind the man.

When Snape simply collapsed in his usual chair and buried his prominent nose in the day's _Daily Prophet,_ Harry finally spoke up. "No breakfast today?" Snape met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Sir?"

Snape barely acknowledged the term, instead returning to his paper with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Lolly will bring a tray for you in a moment. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, it was necessary for me to take breakfast with the Headmaster this morning."

True to Snape's word, Lolly appeared beside Harry's bed with a tray of oatmeal and toast. "Thanks, Lolly." He picked up the spoon from its position next to the bowl and used it to idly mix the clump of brown sugar into his oatmeal. It melted into a watery layer atop the porridge, and Harry swirled his spoon until it disappeared. He took a half-hearted bite, but the stony expression on Snape's face took away what little appetite he had had.

"So, unforeseen circumstances?" Harry muttered quietly, half question and half discontented grumble. He spread a bit of butter and jam on a slice of toast with the back of his spoon. Madam Pomfrey had forbidden the inclusion of knives with his meals. If his lunch or dinner featured meat, it was pre-sliced in bite-sized pieces so that Harry – and probably more importantly, Snape – wouldn't have to cut it.

Snape lowered the paper and gave Harry a long look, causing him to self-consciously take a bite of his toast. "I do not condone meddling, however much the Headmaster does it himself. But this incident does involve you, so I will allow it to slide this once."

The Potions Master folded the paper and tossed it onto the bed, the cover page and headline visible for Harry to see. Harry's own face was splashed across the cover, a photo from his trial at the end of the summer in which he was looking uncomfortable and even downtrodden.

" _Harry Potter: Boy-Who-Gave-Up?_ " Harry dictated, his voice monotone. Snape was assessing Harry's face as his eyes took in the subheading, which read, _Hogwarts students report the possible suicide of the Boy-Who-Lived._

The silence hung heavy in the air for a moment, neither Snape nor Harry making any move to break it. But with a sudden start, Harry threw himself from the bed and toward the door. Pain tore up his wrists – he had yet to take his pain potion for the day – but he closed both hands around the doorknob and yanked hard. The door refused to budge.

"The door won't open for you," Snape intoned, standing from his chair and picking up the newspaper pages that had been scattered when Harry had gotten up. When Harry continued to tug at the door, he added, "Stop it, Potter."

"Ron – Hermione – they have to – know," Harry choked out, punctuating every few words with an emphatic heave on the door. The bandages around his wrists were saturated with fresh blood.

Snape did not miss the appearance of the blood, and he quickly moved to remove Harry's hands from the door. "Your friends were here last night, you imbecile. They clearly know that you are alive, and I am sure that they will ascertain the fact for themselves in a few hours. Show me your hands."

Harry offered his bleeding wrists to the Potions Master, who cautiously removed the bandages to reveal that Harry had reopened the cuts. Snape pressed a few scraps of conjured gauze to the wound and said, "Merlin, Potter. Of all the dunderheaded . . . I need to summon Madam Pomfrey."

"Harry," Harry reminded him with a small scowl, still holding his arms out in front of him. Snape met his gaze and opened his mouth as if to reply, but merely looked towards the door and sent a message to the Mediwitch.

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room. "Up, Mr. Potter. Back in bed," she urged, vanishing Snape's makeshift bandages and conjuring gauze of her own. Catching sight of the newspaper that had been left forgotten on the ground, she gave Snape a warning look.

Harry's voice took on a pleading tone. "Everyone out there thinks I'm dead. I have to tell them I'm alive. They need to – "

Snape had reassumed his seat beside Harry's bed and interrupted his plea. "Those who matter know that you are alive. Consider the rest irrelevant, and it makes the difficult things easier." He paused as Madam Pomfrey administered Harry's daily pain potion and blood replenisher. "The Headmaster and I spoke this morning because realistically, this situation could be used to our advantage."

"How could me being _dead_ be used to our advantage?" Harry asked, his voice expressionless. He picked up his breakfast tray and took another half bite of his oatmeal.

" _Think._ The Dark Lord has likely already heard the rumor that you have committed suicide. He is hopeful that the war has been won for him, that the wizarding world is his for the taking. He will summon me tonight once classes have concluded, and I will tell him that you are indeed dead. I will explain that Professor Dumbledore wanted to keep the news a secret to keep hope alive but that an errant student nicking a snack late at night saw your body and leaked the story." Snape pointed a thin finger toward the newspaper. "Potter – _Harry,_ that story may win us the war."

"I don't understand," Harry supplied faintly.

"If we can convince the Dark Lord of your death, he will no longer be attempting to monitor your every move. We will continue to work toward the Dark Lord's demise without his knowledge, provided he remains unaware of the connection between your minds. Have you read the chapter that I assigned you on Occlumency?"

Harry nodded. "But I thought we were waiting – "

"This is now of the utmost importance. I need to speak to the Headmaster, but I will be back within the hour to commence your lessons. We will be focusing primarily on your ability to close your mind."

Snape swept out of the room, his robes billowing behind him. Harry was left with a crumpled newspaper and a nearly untouched bowl of oatmeal, which he called Lolly to pick up. Madam Pomfrey moved from her spot by the door – Harry had all but forgotten that she was still in the room – and patted his knee.

"Everything will be alright, Mr. Potter," she reassured, leaving the room herself and closing the door behind her.

Now alone, Harry flopped back against the pillows and threw one lazy arm over his eyes.

oOoOo

For once, when Madam Pomfrey let Ron and Hermione into Harry's room, she didn't look exasperated or warn them to keep him as calm as possible. Their faces were pale and solemn as they came through the door, but their tense expressions melted away into something akin to relief.

"Harry!" Hermione cried. "We saw the" – she caught sight of the crumpled newspaper on the bed and nodded toward it – "well, that, and we just wanted to come make sure you were okay."

Ron nodded in agreement. "Did Dumbledore tell you about it?"

"No, Snape did," Harry said, trying to remember if he'd told his friends that he'd been staying with and essentially been babysat by the Potions Master recently. By his friends' blank looks, Harry figured that he hadn't. "Yeah, I was actually staying with him after the first – attempt, I guess. Dumbledore said it would be best." He rolled his eyes.

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron exclaimed, eyes wide. "If I had to live with the greasy git, I'd try to off myself too!"

Harry flinched, and a moment of shocked silence settled over the group. It was immediately broken by a shriek.

"Ronald _Weasley!_ That is _not_ funny!"

Ron immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean it – that way, you know. I was just surprised, I guess. How _is_ living with Snape?"

"Not great," Harry informed grimly. "The first time, he just . . . I don't know. He saw all the memories from the Dursleys, even things that I haven't told you guys about. I panicked. Honestly, I don't even think that I meant it. But then once I tried it, I couldn't get the idea out of my head. All I could think about was how easy it would be to just _stop._ "

"Stop?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Stop everything. You know, breathing, existing, everything. And Snape was there the whole time telling me that I was basically making up the whole thing and that I had jumped off the tower for attention and one day he read this diary that Dumbledore was making me write in and left the quarters, and I guess I thought it was the only option left. So I broke out of his quarters and well, you know the rest."

Neither Ron nor Hermione said anything at first, but Hermione covered Harry's hand with her own. Harry could see the way she avoided looking at the bandages on his wrist, and he didn't blame her. He didn't know how he would take the news that she or Ron had tried to kill themselves – and twice, at that. Harry leaned back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. He wished that he could go back to before the fateful Occlumency lesson with Snape and erase the awkwardness he had created amongst the three of them.

Hermione spoke first. "Do you ever think about how different our lives would be if the war didn't exist?"

"Loads," Ron replied, toeing the floor with one trainer. The troubled look on his face suggested that he was thinking of his brother Percy, who had disowned the Weasley family and made it no secret that he disapproved of their belief in Dumbledore.

"Why think of things we'll never have?" Harry grumbled. He kept his eyes firmly glued to the ceiling. "I'd love to have parents and to get Voldemort out of my head. I'd really love to be out of this bloody room but wishing for it doesn't make it easier to deal with."

"Well, living here is better than living with Snape, right?" Ron asked.

Harry looked at him and shrugged. "Not so different, really. He's always here to tutor me and sits in with the therapist that Dumbledore is making me see. Besides, we have a truce or something now. If I call him 'sir,' he'll be less of a git."

Ron laughed aloud, but his laughter abruptly cut off when he caught sight of Harry's pale face. Snape was standing in the doorway, looking distinctly irritated. He was holding a rather large book between his crossed arms and his chest.

"Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger," Snape intoned, both a greeting and a dismissal. His voice was lighter than Harry would have suspected based on the fact that Harry could see that the man had spoken the words through clenched teeth.

"Bye, Harry," Hermione called, leaning forward to kiss Harry on the cheek. Ron followed her out the door, giving Harry a little wave. "Hello, Professor," she added as she passed the man standing in the doorway.

Snape took a seat next to Harry's bedside, still giving Harry a displeased look. "Would you like to refresh my memory on when 'git' became a respectful term, Potter?"

"I didn't know you were there," Harry mumbled. "Besides, what happened to calling me 'Harry?'"

Snape seemed to examine Harry's face for a moment before he released an infinitesimal sigh. "Old habits die hard. I am working on it, Harry."

Harry didn't quite think that it would be a good idea to inform Snape that old habits died hard when it came to insulting him behind his back, so he picked at a stray thread on his bed sheets instead.

"As I said this morning, Occlumency has become our first priority. The majority of the time that was previously spent on your lessons will now be spent learning to defend your mind." Snape set the book he was holding on the foot of Harry's bed, summoned the other Occlumency book from the table across the room, and stacked the two. "We will be taking an alternative approach since my previous teaching method did not seem to be – conducive – to your learning style."

"You didn't teach me at all!" Harry snapped without thinking.

A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw, letting Harry know that he was clearly toeing the line. The man's voice sounded a little forced when he repeated, "As I said, we will be taking an alternative approach."

Harry reddened slightly and tried to discreetly read Snape's expression. It seemed that the man was more committed to this so-called truce than he thought, so Harry swallowed his pride and pushed down his hatred of the man. "Sorry, Professor."

Snape's jaw loosened slightly. "I believe that you require more instruction in the formation of your shields than I had previously thought. As such, we will work solely on building your defenses before moving on to withstanding actual attacks."

"But I tried that," Harry protested. "I worked every night on clearing my mind, but it didn't help."

"Clearly controlling your emotions has not been your strongest skill this term," Snape replied dryly, although there was a bit of a hard edge to the comment that made Harry scowl slightly. "I will be in your mind, helping you see what I mean by formulating a shield."

The thought of Snape entering his mind brought back the memory of exactly what had happened the last time Snape had used Legilimancy on him. He wished that he could shout at Snape or even punch him in the man's overly-prominent nose, but in the end he merely nodded, avoiding Snape's gaze.

"Have you put much thought into where your true memories will be hidden? It must be somewhere that you feel safe, for you will essentially be hiding your true self away there as well."

In fact, Harry _had_ put some thought into this. When Snape had given him the book on Occlumency on his first night in the Hospital Wing, Harry had dedicated himself to learning the art. If nothing else, he wanted to be able to protect his memories from his hated Potions professor. But as of this morning, it appeared that there was more at stake.

"My cupboard," Harry muttered, keeping his eyes focused somewhere across the room.

Snape blinked, clearly caught off guard. His mouth opened, then closed. Faintly, he repeated, "Your cupboard?" When Harry shrugged, the man added in evident disbelief, "You feel safe in the cupboard under the stairs? From your relatives' house?"

Harry shrugged again. "It was the only place in the Dursleys' house that was really mine, the only place that I could really hide and feel safe there. And since Hogwarts has been my only true home, I was thinking that maybe I could hide the cupboard somewhere in the castle."

Snape still looked slightly taken aback, but when Harry locked eyes with him, the man rearranged his facial expression into something that closely resembled his teaching face – although without the usual disdain.

"That . . . could work, Harry. The only way to truly determine its practicality is to test it, but the thought behind the idea makes it likely to work."

Harry fought back a shocked grin at the man's compliment. While it had been covert and perhaps even unintended, Harry was used to getting only contempt or – at best – cold dispassion from the man. Snape's acknowledgement of his effort was entirely new but certainly not unwelcome.

Before Harry could formulate a reply, Snape spoke again, "I trust that you have been practicing visualizing your shields over the past few days?"

"It's not difficult to imagine being locked in my cupboard," Harry replied. He got up to sit at the little table on the other side of the room. "But I've been practicing a bit."

Snape followed and sat across from him, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on steepled fingers. "We will not be doing much more than visualizing this afternoon. I theorize that you may be a more visual learner than I had previously thought. As such, I would like to start by demonstrating a properly constructed shield to you."

"Wouldn't I have to be in your head for that?"

Harry caught the slightest flicker of alarm that crossed Snape's visage, as if the idea of having Harry inside his head horrified him. The man's eyebrows furrowed. "No, I will enter your mind, projecting my state of mind into yours."

"That's possible?"

"It takes significantly more magical energy and mental control than both Occlumency and Legilimency, but it is possible. However, due to the necessity of a stronger mental connection, I will need to . . . maintain physical contact. I will try to keep the demonstration brief for the benefit of the two of us," Snape informed him, disdain at the thought of touching Harry coloring his tone.

Harry barely kept his gaze from darting down to stare at Snape's steepled fingers. The thought of the man's hands on his made his stomach turn slightly, for although he had begun to maintain an uneasy truce with Snape, his mind jumped back to the years of hatred between them.

Snape leaned further across the table and held his hands out toward Harry's head, pausing for a moment as though asking Harry for permission. Harry met the man's eyes – which were curiously blank – and nodded. Snape pressed two fingers against each of Harry's temples and maintained eye contact.

" _Legilimens._ "

Rather than the bruising force with which Snape had entered Harry's mind in the past, Harry felt just a brush of magic against his mind before he felt Snape's presence in his mind. Snape didn't search through his mind for his memories, but rather, Harry saw an image unfold in his mind.

He was standing in a meadow, with the lush grass between his suddenly bare feet and the small flowers blooming on the large tree behind him telling him that it was sometime in the spring. There was an abandoned playground not far from the tree, separated from the meadow by a small playground gate. A soft breeze ruffled his hair.

Snape's voice reached his ears, although it sounded distorted, as though he were hearing the words from underwater. "Relax, Harry. Embrace the stillness of the meadow. Try to feel for the atmosphere of the environment."

Harry seated himself under the tree and stared up through the branches, which were adorned with leaves and little flowers. There was an overwhelming calm to the place. It was disconcerting to think that Snape's head could ever even be this calm.

"I am going to remove myself from your mind now," came Snape's garbled voice again, and Harry felt the peaceful meadow scene retreat from him mind. He found himself back in his room at the hospital wing, sitting across the table from Snape. Snape's face was pale and drawn, as though projecting his shield into Harry's mind had physically drained him.

"Are you okay, sir?" Harry asked carefully, not wanting to find himself on the receiving end of Snape's wrath for inquiring into the man's health.

Snape waved his hand in a gesture that Harry found uncharacteristically careless for the man. "I am fine. Occluding alone for a long period of time takes its toll on the mind. Projecting, well . . ."

"A long period of time? You weren't in my head for that long, were you?"

Snape looked at him carefully. "I was in your mind for over an hour." When Harry failed to respond in any other way than to look utterly surprised, Snape continued, "You have now experienced what a shield should feel like. It should be a safe, calm place for you. As the book said, the strongest shields are formed from places that are linked to personal meaning, such as your cupboard or Hogwarts itself."

"What's the importance of that meadow?" Harry asked before he could help himself. He immediately regretted the question, as Snape's eyes became shuttered and unreadable. Harry wondered if he was occluding again.

Snape stood abruptly from where he was sitting at the table. The loud scrape of the wooden chair against the stone floor made Harry cringe, but Snape didn't seem to notice it.

"Continue practicing your shield every night. Now that I have given you an example, it should be easier for you to visualize what is required of you." Following his words, Snape smoothly left the room, closing the door behind him with a snap.

Harry stared after him. What was the significance of the meadow? And why had the man shut down at the briefest mention of it?

Regardless, the makeshift Occlumency lesson had tired Harry as well, so he retired to his bed and tried to visualize his cupboard locked away in the deepest part of the dungeons as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!


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